Crazy Like a Snake
by Sacred Dust
Summary: Destiny goes flying out the window when dotty, eccentric Luna Lovegood is sorted into Slytherin. Draco thinks it's an outrage. Snape thinks fate is punishing him. Harry and his friends don't know what to think. Luna suspects the nargles. [Chamber of Secrets AU - grey Luna, smart Draco]
1. Snakes On a Train

_A/N: Luna is a really fun character to write and I've never seen a fic where she was sorted with the snakes, so I thought, why not? She's a very mysterious person who rejects all boundaries, saying and doing whatever her inscrutable whims dictate. That could be viewed as very Slytherin indeed. This is comedy, friendship, and adventure; because Luna started at Hogwarts in 1992, it follows the general story of 'Chamber of Secrets.'_

 _Disclaimer: Anything you recognise, I don't own. J.K. Rowling does._

* * *

 **CRAZY LIKE A SNAKE**

* * *

 **I: Snakes On a Train**

Dotty.

It was the first word that came to mind when Draco Malfoy saw her. Oh, there were others: distracted, thick, poor, no taste in clothes. But dotty said it best.

The girl was sitting in the train compartment across from him, unsurprisingly alone, reading a magazine as though her life depended on it. Her dirty blonde hair fell in gentle waves down her back and over her shoulders. Something straight and hard stuck out from it which, on closer inspection, was a pale yellow wand inexplicably tucked behind her left ear. Her skin was as fair and unblemished as any he'd ever seen, and when she suddenly looked up Draco found himself transfixed by two large, silvery-blue eyes that seemed to penetrate right into his brain.

"Hullo," she said dreamily.

He turned up his nose and shut the door of his compartment, sinking back into the seat with a huff.

"What did you do that for?" Pansy Parkinson protested next to him. "The trolley hasn't even come through yet and I want to buy some cauldron cakes."

"And chocolate frogs," Blaise Zabini said lazily from the seat opposite. "I still need Artemisia Lufkin and Herpo the Foul."

Draco's grey eyes flicked irritably between his two friends. They were opposite in almost every way: Pansy was short, pale, mercurial, and an average student with a talent for nasty hexes; Blaise was tall, dark, seemingly indifferent to the world around him, and earned excellent grades. But at least they were both of sound mind and honourable blood, not to mention fellow Slytherins. With them he was always in control of the situation. The prestige of the Malfoys was greater than that of the Parkinsons which in turn was greater than that of the Zabinis. Though their friendship was genuine enough, they generally deferred to him out of respect; while he could freely call them by their given names, they were obligated to use his surname only. Unless they were addressing an enemy and then it was _all_ surnames, all the time. Pure-blood lore was rife with obscure and inconsistently observed traditions like this, and Draco took a certain pleasure in learning them all. Together they encompassed his comfort zone, his sense of place in the world.

Dotty girls who kept their wands behind their ears fell far outside of that comfort zone.

"Oh, stop whinging, both of you. If you want your sweets so badly then walk up the train and get them yourself. The door is closed because I'm not going to have that nutty bint staring at me the whole journey."

Blaise still hadn't looked up from his Transfiguration text. "Who? Mudblood Granger?"

"No, some firstie. Blonde and reading a dodgy magazine—don't open it!" he snapped as Pansy stood and reached curiously for the door handle.

"Really, Malfoy! At least let us get a good look so we can have some fun with her later." His friend's hazel eyes gleamed maliciously beneath her dark bangs.

Draco immediately softened. "Well, in _that_ case ... "

Pansy winked at him and slid the door open. A moment later she shrugged and sat down again. "You tease. There's no one sitting there."

"What?" He looked for himself and sure enough, the compartment was now empty. No sign of the mysterious girl remained. Was it possible that he simply imagined her? He had been a bit foggy lately; recurring nightmares of something awful lurking and hissing around him in pitch darkness would do that to a boy. He tried to dismiss it as back-to-school jitters, but quite honestly he was excited to begin his second year at Hogwarts and escape the stuffy family mansion. Flying lessons and an unforgettable excursion to the Forbidden Forest had given him a new appreciation for fresh air and wide open spaces. Not to mention he could finally try out for the Quidditch team this year ...

"Anything off the trolley, dears?"

Draco jumped, but of course it was only the dimpled witch who sold snacks on the train.

"Five liquorice wands," he said.

"Three cauldron cakes," Pansy said in the haughty voice she reserved for house-elves and other servants.

"Four chocolate frogs, I suppose," drawled Blaise.

"Have you any gulping plimpie soup?" murmured the girl sitting next to Blaise.

Draco scoffed. "Of course they don't have any soup here."

Two more seconds passed before his muscles stiffened in total shock. Slowly he looked up from his liquorice.

"Hullo," the blonde girl said again.

Her protruding, all-seeing eyes froze him in place. Now that she was closer he could see she was holding her magazine upside down. She sported rainbow-striped stockings under a frilly pink skirt and bright yellow blouse. Her earrings looked oddly like radishes, and on the hideous necklace she was wearing ... were those butterbeer corks?

She followed his gaze and held up the necklace for closer examination. "To keep away the nargles. You know about them, don't you? They're little sprites that steal our odds and ends. Every time you lose something it's their fault, as likely as not, and butterbeer is the only thing they're afraid of. The smell draws them, you see, and sometimes they fall into your mug and drown."

"Blaise," Draco said through his teeth. "How in Merlin's name did _she_ get in here?"

Blaise merely shrugged, sparing a curious glance at the first-year before returning to his studies.

Pansy wrinkled her nose as if she smelled something bad. "Excuse me! This part of the train is for Slytherins only. Who do you think you are?" She wilted somewhat as that unnerving gaze fixed upon her.

"I think I am Luna," the girl said after an unusually long pause. Her voice was soft and dreamy with a noticeable Irish accent. "Luna Lovegood. It's what my father has always called me, but I can't say for sure if I have a name, or if I'm truly his daughter for that matter. 'Tis not easy to know yourself. I could just as easily be a liquorice wand."

Draco paused in the middle of a bite of candy to see her studying him again.

"I hope I taste good," she said.

Draco scowled and put the candy away. Pansy burst into a fit of giggles and elbowed him in the side.

Blaise's eyebrows rose slightly as he turned a page. "Get your mind out of the gutter, Parkinson."

"I think I like her," Pansy said when she could breathe again.

"You must be joking!" Draco said incredulously. "She's completely off the planet! Besides, she's not even worthy of our company. There's no Lovegood family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight and you know it."

"True, but then that list was never really finished, was it?" Pansy leaned forward. "Let's hear your opinion, Blaise. Surely you're the expert on bloodlines here. Your mother sampled so many of them."

Blaise raised his eyes from the book and sent her a cold smile. "I must commend you on one thing, Parkinson. You may be a bitch, but at least you're consistent about it. You're as poisonous to your friends as you are to your enemies."

"Fortunately for you I take that as a compliment, Blaise. Now in case you failed to notice, a Parkinson gave you an order. Follow it."

He sighed and closed the text momentarily, turning to Luna. "Give me your hand." When she obliged, he lowered his face to her skin and breathed deeply. A long moment passed. "Hmm. Peaches." An even longer moment passed. Finally he released Luna's hand and nodded his approval. "She's clean."

Pansy smirked. "Very well, Luna. Call us by our surnames and you may remain in the car. I'm Parkinson, he's Zabini, and that's Malfoy."

"You can't tell if someone's a pure-blood just like _that!"_ Draco shouted at Blaise.

"You're the one who's always saying I can smell dirty blood from a mile away, Malfoy," the other boy deadpanned as he dove back into his book. "I declare her acceptable. Do with her what you will."

Draco seethed. The heir of the wealthiest wizarding family in Britain was quite unused to being contradicted so many times in one day, but after a few deep breaths he managed to quell his temper. Yes, this Luna was obviously insane and so were his mates for putting up with her, but making a scene and throwing her out was hardly worth the effort. Soon enough they would arrive at Hogwarts, where the first-years must separate from everyone else; then the girl would be sorted into one of the loser houses—probably Hufflepuff, they took all the duffers—and he never had to see her again except to hex her for his personal entertainment. In the meantime, he decided, he would take a nap.

Draco leaned back in the seat, closed his eyes, and allowed himself to relax. The sounds and motions of the train were quite soothing, and thanks to his recent lack of sleep he was able to drift off rather quickly. The miles fell away as he dozed. Elsewhere Colin Creevey was snapping a picture out the window every thirty seconds, Oliver Wood was doing a handstand on his broom as it floated in midair, Padma and Parvati Patil were engaged in a twin-on-twin staring contest with first-years Flora and Hestia Carrow, and Fred and George Weasley were magicking seventeen chocolate frogs into going berserk and letting them loose in their little sister Ginny's compartment.

To Draco, it happened not; it mattered not. He was dead to the world. One could call it natural Obliviation.

It was some time later when a small hand with sharp nails grabbed his arm and shook him awake.

"Malfoy," Pansy said. "We're almost there. Better get our robes on."

 _"Mmmffffll,"_ he said eloquently, stretched, and stood up. His feet felt oddly cool and sensitive to the carpet. Draco glanced down and, after a minute of groggy contemplation, concluded that something was missing. "Right. Which one of you gits took my shoes?"

"Why darling," Pansy sounded as though she'd been rehearsing her answer for the last half hour. "Surely I would never play such a cruel trick on the great Lord Malfoy, to whom I am betrothed and forever true."

"Nor I, oh great and honorable Prince of Slytherin, whose family is fit only to serve you," said Blaise. He was now reading his Astronomy text in advance, but Draco caught a similar look in his eye.

Draco turned to Luna and shot her a terrible look that would have made many of his peers willing to confess anything, but it was all for naught. Her face was the very picture of innocence, and her eyes disarmed him with ease. Only when he looked closer did he see that very same gleam ...

"It must have been the nargles," she said solemnly.


	2. Hatstall

**II: Hatstall**

And so it was that Draco Malfoy stormed off the Hogwarts Express muttering and cursing, mincing along over rough and uneven ground in his finest Slytherin school robes and no shoes, eliciting whispers and giggles as he went. Pansy and fellow Slytherins Daphne Greengrass and Millicent Bullstrode followed him at a safe distance, chuckling to each other. Luna gravitated towards them in a way that appeared quite natural; despite her tendency to wander, randomly change direction, and spin completely around to take in as much nature as possible, she somehow ended up in their midst. Not even his big, dumb henchmen Crabbe and Goyle seemed to mind; both peered curiously at her and then shrugged as Draco ranted at the gawkers under his breath.

"You all just wait until my father hears about this ... I'll remember each and every one of you ... and when I'm the most powerful heir in the wizarding world and you're all writhing in agony beneath my wand, then we'll see who's laughing at who ... bloody lovely that'll be ... don't dare turn your backs all year long, Gryffindors, because I'll be there ... "

"Wretched little pixies ... pilfer the footwear of a Malfoy, will they? They've gone too far this time ... " Luna joined in.

"Too right they have," Draco muttered absent-mindedly. "Look at that miserable little mudblood Granger, even she's laughing ... she'll get what's coming to her ... she's not so high and mighty without Saint Potter and the Weasel, wherever those prats are ... "

"We'll round up all the nargles ... make them nest in her hair, that's what we'll do ... "

"There's certainly room for them ... " Draco turned about furiously as he realised the girl most likely responsible for all this was standing right next to him, rubbing her hands together and glaring in a similar manner. "You! I don't need your help to plot against my enemies! You've done quite enough already."

Even Pansy was surprised by his hostility. "Come on, Malfoy, she's not that bad."

"She smells like peaches," Blaise agreed, still reading.

"Shut up, both of you!" the prince of Slytherin said in a hiss that would do a real snake proud. "And as for you, I am giving you one more chance to leave my presence before I do something I'll regret ... or you will, more like."

One second passed, then two, then three as the girl stood face to face with him and moved not an inch. The moment was sufficiently intense that Hagrid's familiar shout of "attention firs' years ... firs' years, follow me ... " was barely audible.

"I should go, then." It wasn't clear whether Luna was obeying Hagrid or Draco. She removed her cork necklace and offered it to him. "Would you care for some protection from the narg—"

 _"No."_

"Suit yourself." Luna's pleasant expression never wavered as she followed the rest of the new students to the shores of the Black Lake.

"Merlin's beard," Blaise muttered to Pansy. "He makes _you_ look like a model of pure-blood etiquette."

"True. Not quite prepared to be 'Lord Malfoy,' is he?" she whispered back, watching Draco confer with Crabbe and Goyle.

"We'll need to do some work on him, Parkinson."

"Improving his social circle could do wonders ... "

"I've got an idea. Those twins who are in her year ... they seem like our sort. Let's have a word with them, shall we? Quick, before they cross the river."

* * *

The journey to the castle had been brightened somewhat by two-thirds of the Golden Trio being absent. As they filed into the Great Hall to wait for the firsties, the Slytherins exchanged amused glances at Draco's stocking feet but had too much respect for his family to make fun of him. Instead they all passed the time by gleefully speculating on what sort of awful fate had befallen Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, who had not been seen on the train or in the carriages between the station and the school.

Millicent, a squat tomboy with short brown hair, suggested they write down their ideas and pool everybody's leftover candy as a prize for the most accurate guesser. She suggested the troll from last Halloween had returned to take its revenge. Draco claimed that the Weasleys couldn't afford the train fare for Ron and Harry and were making them fly to Scotland on their brooms. Pansy, who had a particularly lurid imagination, believed the possessed Professor Quirrell had faked his death and hunted them down. Blaise thought their grades were so poor they'd been expelled ("those two never did read enough," he said). Crabbe thought they were caught by hostile muggles and burned at the stake. Goyle saw something shiny and forgot what they'd been talking about. Blonde gossipmonger Daphne Greengrass was busy admiring her own reflection in a dinner plate. And Sophie Roper, a half-blood library rat with stringy dark hair and oversize glasses, thought the whole exercise was childish and refused to participate.

"Got a soft spot for Saint Potter, do you, Soph?" Millicent teased her. "What is he, your long-lost brother? You do look alike, you know."

Sophie dismissed the charge with a wave of her hand. "I don't care enough about him to wish him dead. Between his silly notions of You-Know-Who coming after him and his only friends being a swot and a blood traitor, I think he's suffering enough, don't you?"

"She does have a point," skinny Theodore Nott said mildly. "Malfoy and Parkinson here are the ones who can't leave well enough alone."

"He's fun to play with, that's all," Pansy purred, examining her fingernails.

Draco turned on Theodore with vehemence. "Scarhead used his Gryffindor connections to get on the Quidditch team illegally and steal a house Cup that was rightfully ours! He and his grubby little friends attacked me and insulted Slytherin! You call that well enough?!"

There was a general murmur of agreement at the table.

"If you hate Potter so much, then why don't you try out for the team this year?" An older boy chimed in. It was big, ugly, dark-haired Marcus Flint, a seventh-year student and the captain of Slytherin's Quidditch team. "At least then you can knock him around without getting in trouble."

"That's not a bad idea, Flint," Draco replied, grinning at the thought of knocking the boy off his broom and grabbing the Snitch before a cheering crowd. "In the meantime, I might just owl my father and tell him about the substandard equipment we've been stuck with. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to make a contribution."

"Malfoy, you're too kind," Flint raised his water glass in an informal toast. "To thumping the Gryffindors! And everyone else, of course."

"Here, here!" shouted every snake within earshot.

By this time the first-year students were uneasily filing in. Draco found it hard to believe he'd been just like them a year ago, gazing around the massive chamber in awe and jumping at his first encounter with the school ghosts. His eyes narrowed when he saw the dotty little dingbat who had stolen his new shoes. He would have to keep track of which house she went into so he could exact revenge later.

Out of the corner of his eye he spied Argus Filch, the school caretaker, staring at his dirty stocking feet with jowls quivering in outrage. The miserable old man couldn't abide a mess, and his nightly habit of stalking the grounds with his nosy cat Mrs. Norris had made it difficult for them to get up to much mischief last year. Perhaps measures could be taken to get him on their side.

Old Slytherin-hating Minerva McGonagall, transfigurations professor and Deputy Headmistress, came down from high table and made the same speech he remembered from last year before the stool and the tatty, ancient Sorting Hat were produced. Fortunately for Draco he'd barely had to touch the ugly thing before it sorted him. The Hat jerked and shifted as if waking from a long sleep before the "mouth" (rather, a tear in the fabric) opened and sang a hearty greeting to the new pupils. The words were different but the gist was the same.

 _In times of trial and tension,_  
 _To whom do we all turn?_  
 _To family and friends, of course_  
 _And though you've come to learn ..._

 _A home away from home_  
 _Awaits you in this institution_  
 _I'll send you to whichever house_  
 _Best suits your constitution!_

 _You may belong in Ravenclaw_  
 _If scholarship's your passion_  
 _And knowledge means much more to you_  
 _Than politics or fashion;_

 _If chivalry and courage_  
 _Are your qualities of choice,_  
 _The noble house of Gryffindor_  
 _Shall give your kind a voice;_

 _Or do you value justice,_  
 _Kindness, patience and hard work?_  
 _Perhaps the house of Hufflepuff_  
 _Is where you'll prove your worth;_

 _For those with great ambition_  
 _Who would bend the rules to win,_  
 _There is no better place for you_  
 _Than cunning Slytherin._

 _Before you deign to put me on_  
 _Remember one and all_  
 _To take your Hogwarts journey_  
 _As an individual._

 _No matter where your nest awaits_  
 _We're all birds of a feather_  
 _The fate of wizardry depends_  
 _On how we work together!_

"What a load of old cobblers," Draco told Theodore over the resounding applause.

Theodore shrugged. "I think it's accurate enough. Ravenclaws let us copy their notes. Hufflepuffs are fun to step on. And there's nothing like getting the Gryffindors in trouble. I'd say we work together just fine."

The heir cracked a smile. _"Touché,_ Theodore."

At last McGonagall started calling the first-years forward. The names went by in a blur until "Carrow, Flora" and "Carrow, Hestia," sullen brown-haired identical twins who both were added to Slytherin. Flora said not a word while the Hat was on her head; Hestia appeared to be discussing something with it, but no one was close enough to overhear. The girls approached the Slytherin table and sat down with a subtle nod to Blaise and Pansy, who then looked at each other and smiled.

 _Already up to something, eh?_ Draco wondered absently. _They're Slytherins, all right._

"Harper, Frye!"

A tall boy with sandy hair and a ready smile ran up to the stool with obvious enthusiasm. To the surprise of everyone in hall, he was the next addition to Slytherin. Draco eyed him with disdain as he sat down nearby, relishing the applause.

"I knew it!" he whispered excitedly. "Mum always said I'd be in Ravenclaw but I knew better. Stories over studies, that's my motto! Can you believe Hogwarts has no student newspaper? Everyone's stuck reading the _Prophet!_ Pure drivel, that is. That Rita Skeeter? Dreadful journalist, no integrity ... say, what's that you're reading?"

The last question was addressed to Blaise, who regarded the boy skeptically from behind his newest literary conquest. _"The Quibbler."_

"Now that's an interesting one! Most of it's rubbish, my dad says, but I like it anyway. At least it's not a Ministry mouthpiece."

Draco was about to tell the boy to quiet down when he recognised the magazine. "Blaise! Did you get that from the little nutter on the train?!"

"Traded her my Advanced Astronomy book for it. It's quite amusing, you know. Says here that Cornelius Fudge has a private army of heliopaths."

Before Draco could criticise his choice of reading material, McGonagall called "Lovegood, Luna" and he turned to see the strange girl wandering towards the stool. He nearly groaned when she not only remained standing, but turned the Hat inside out before placing it on her head. She then looked directly at the Slytherins' table and waited.

* * *

"Ahhh, a puzzle!" the Hat said in a voice that only Luna could hear. "A truly unique mind and no mistake. There's limitless imagination here, a thirst for exploration and discovery of things unknown, a generosity of spirit and effortless individuality. But there's loss here too, isn't there ... far more grief than a child should have to endure. I wish all the heads I've sat upon were this challenging."

* * *

Pansy and Blaise glanced at each other with a kind of fearful anticipation. Draco clenched his fists under the table.

 _Don't you dare look at us, Lovegood,_ he thought as if she could hear him. _Forget it. I am NOT going to be stuck with you for the next six years. Go bother Ravenclaw or something if you know what's good for you!_

A sudden noise made everyone jump, but it turned out to be Crabbe and Goyle's stomachs growling.

* * *

"Nothing to say, hmm? You're certainly trying to make this interesting for me. You don't like that I can see into your thoughts, do you? You enjoy the solace of your mind ... I am tempted to send you off to Ravenclaw. On the other hand, you've already received some intriguing endorsements from the girls I sent to Slytherin ... "

* * *

Minutes had passed. There was an audible shuffling of feet among the reptiles. Headmaster Dumbledore leaned forward in his seat, eyes twinkling. Draco pulled uncomfortably at his collar.

 _Why is that blasted Hat taking so long? Just get it over with for Circe's sake!_

Luna's eyes were covered by the hat, but somehow he knew they were staring straight through the enchanted fabric and seeing _him._ Taunting him. A corner of her mouth twitched wickedly upward.

 _No,_ his mind raged. _Dear Merlin, no ... anywhere but my house!_

* * *

The Hat sounded rather tired now. "Hmm. You seem quite certain of your choice. The Tree of Knowledge is both great and generous. But if your desires are so inscrutable that nothing in this garden of earthly delights can satisfy them, and you must seek your destiny in the heavens above, then I wish you all the best with your ascension in—"

* * *

"SLYTHERIN!"

 _"Aaaaarrrrrrrgh!"_

Pandemonium. The other three tables were a sea of gobsmacked faces, with a few vocal protests coming from the older Weasleys who had considered Luna a harmless neighbor and felt somehow betrayed. This was nothing compared to the reaction at the Slytherin table, where some students laughed or shouted in disbelief and the anguished cry came from none other than Draco Malfoy, who now gripped the sides of his blond head in frustration. Even Head of House Severus Snape was massaging his temples as though anticipating a seven-year headache. Pansy and Blaise looked to be enjoying the whole scene immensely; Pansy laughed so hard she upset her glass of ice-cold water into Goyle's lap, eliciting a high-pitched squeal. It took a few bursts of purple sparks from Dumbledore's wand to restore order.

"All students shall refrain from death wails until the relative privacy of their common rooms," old McGonagall said sharply. "Miss Lovegood, you may join your house."

Luna danced over to the table and took an empty seat across from him, next to Harper.

"Hullo," she said once more.

Draco offered only a feeble groan in reply. He barely heard the rest of the names sorted; he knew that only one of them, a skinny girl with carrot-colored hair named Morag Ollivander, was a Slytherin. Just five new snakes this year? Damn. Odd as some of them might be, he grudgingly decided there was little choice but to embrace them. That didn't mean he had to like it, though. The start-of-term announcements from Dumbledore were a blur. The old man went on about the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side no longer being out of bounds, not bothering to say why that was even important, and then introduced a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. The name rang a bell; it was that pompous twit he'd seen posing with Saint Potter in Flourish and Blotts.

Reluctantly he raised his head, watching the man—Gilderoy Lockhart, that was it—preening and soaking in the adoring applause of seemingly every woman in attendance. Even the Slytherin girls were going mad over him ... except for Sophie who had borrowed one of Blaise's books, and Luna who was eyeing the man rather suspiciously.

"I'm not certain how good a teacher he'll make," she remarked. "I think he's got a case of the wrackspurts."

"Dare I ask what the hell a wrackspurt is?" Draco muttered, though he didn't really care. Hunger and exhaustion were waging an silent battle inside of him, and if the feast didn't begin soon he might nod off right at the table. Then again, falling asleep for too long might bring on _that dream_ again, something he was anxious to avoid. He often woke up from it screaming and while his mother coming in to comfort him at home was one thing, waking every boy in the second-year dormitory at 2 A.M. would be most inappropriate ... not to mention embarrassing.

"No one knows quite what a wrackspurt looks like ... it's invisible they are, even to the most powerful wizard. That's how they creep up on you, float into your head through your ears and make your brain go all fuzzy. When a person seems distracted or uncomfortable, that's a sure sign."

"Mm-hm," Draco was barely listening. Why was his nightmare about a snake, anyway? As a Slytherin, what reason would he have to fear such a creature?

Something tickled his forehead. He glanced up to see it was a strand of blonde hair—someone else's blonde hair, for a change. Luna had crawled right up onto the table and was studying his face from inches away. All the other Slytherins were staring as Draco's cheeks acquired a noticeable tinge of red.

"Oh dear!" the eccentric girl declared. "I think they got you, too."

* * *

After the events of the train ride and the dinner, Draco thought he'd have gone numb to Luna Lovegood's ... Lovegood-ness and just stopped noticing her entirely, but something she did always seemed to grab his attention. This time it was the look of undisguised amazement on her face as she entered the common room for the first time. Granted, the exclusive dungeons _were_ a marvel of architecture and design; soothing green orb-lamps provided enough light to study by while preserving the shadows of the vaulted stone ceiling, with luxurious high-backed chairs and chaise lounges and a row of tinted green windows looking out into the depths of the lake.

Draco himself loved the place, but like most Slytherins he kept his cards close to the vest. It wouldn't do to show signs of weakness to his peers. The Carrow twins were putting up an impressive facade of indifference and even the chatterbox Harper was managing to guard his expression a bit, but it was becoming more and more evident that Luna just didn't care what other people thought of her. Had he not known any better, he would have condemned her as utterly without guile and therefore unfit for the house ...

... But then, there was the matter of his shoes. He managed to borrow another pair from Theodore, who was a notorious clothes horse, but how had Lovegood swiped them in the first place without waking him on the train? Was she really that good or had he just lost his touch over the summer?

Hell, maybe he'd never had a touch to begin with. Maybe he wasn't as great as he thought he was.

Perhaps it was the dreams that were unsettling him, or seeing the room brought back bittersweet memories of his first year when Dumbledore cheated them out of the Cup at the end of term, but Draco felt his usual confidence ebbing away. As the prefects rounded up the first-years in the middle of the chamber and everyone else stood at attention around them, he turned to one of the few Slytherins he knew would be entirely honest with him.

"You. Sophie."

She looked up. "Malfoy?"

"Why didn't last term end the way it should have? Why did Saint Potter and his flunkies do so much better than I did?"

Sophie's eyes got bigger behind her glasses. It wasn't often anyone asked her opinion, but the gears in her analytical mind began turning immediately.

"Apart from Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Hooch all being biased against our house?" she said momentarily. "Because they worked harder than you did."

Draco paled slightly. Maybe he hadn't expected quite _that_ much honesty. "Really."

"Being a Malfoy will get you our respect and obedience, but it won't get you academic or athletic success. If you want those too, you'll need to get your hands dirty."

He sniffed at the notion and turned away from her. The words left a burn in his gut. "This stays between us, Sophie."

"Of course, Malfoy."

Seventh-year prefect Gemma Farley, a stocky girl with curly brown hair and hard eyes, took her familiar position near the front of the room. All idle conversation quickly dried up. Fellow prefect Richard Selwyn was present as well, but it was clear that Farley would be the one taking charge. She gave a similar spiel to the one Draco and his friends had heard last year: Slytherin was the house of ambition and cunning, not foolish glory-seeking or juvenile stunts. (She turned and shot Draco a glare during this part.) Any disagreement between snakes did not leave the pit; outside of the dungeons, they must present a united front or the other three houses—not to mention the "anti-Slytherin establishment" at Hogwarts—would tear them apart. The Head of house, Potions master Snape, would visit them tomorrow after breakfast.

As the speech ended, the students began to mingle and talk about their prospects for the new school year.

"Well, what shall we do with our first evening back at Hogwarts, fellow reptiles?" asked brawny Quidditch enthusiast Cassius Warrington.

"Let's go find a stray Hufflepuff," Pansy suggested, licking her lips. "I like the noises they make when we hex them."

Blaise edged away from her uncomfortably. "You know, we _could_ just stay in our common room and study for tomorrow's lessons. Especially Potions."

"You know Snape won't take points from his own house," Millicent said carelessly.

"But he's not above scolding us in front of the Gryffindors if we don't come prepared," Draco said firmly as he stood up from his chair. "Blaise is right. I want each and every Slytherin hitting the books tonight, so we can score some early points and get our house off to its best start in Hogwarts history. We were all embarrassed last year, including me! Is that what our founder would have wanted for the greatest, most ambitious house at Hogwarts? To have the Cup stolen out from under us? To be outscored on our exams by _mudbloods?"_

Flint's nostrils flared at the memory, making him look even more like a troll than usual. Resident teacher's pets Theodore and Sophie turned red and examined the floor. Pansy's eyes filled with tears as she remembered her mother's disappointment. Frye scribbled more and more excitedly on a notepad.

"As my father has been very keen to remind me, I didn't do so well my first year, because I let that git Potter and his gang distract me from what was really important. But this time round it's going to be different. As the son of a Malfoy and a Black, I mean to get off my arse and start leading by example. To put us back on top where we belong and do down the Gryffindors! But I can't do it alone. Who's with me?"

His classmates responded with a cheer. Flora and Hestia smiled and nodded at each other. Blaise had actually looked up from _The Quibbler_ for more than a few seconds, and even some older students regarded Draco with new interest.

"Permission to speak, Malfoy?" Luna respectfully raised her hand. When he nodded, albeit reluctantly, she turned to address her house. "I agree that we must do all we can to make our families proud of us. If we work at being the best Slytherins we can then it's champions we'll be, surely. My father says you must make every day count for something, for you never know what could happen tomorrow."

Her voice was as dreamy as ever but her eyes had a glassy look to them, as though she'd just remembered something painful. Nevertheless, she got a tentative round of applause.

"My father also told me never to stop looking for the crumple-horned snorkack," added Luna. "But that's another story."

Quieter, more confused applause.

"Right then. Well said, Malfoy, Lovegood," Gemma nodded curtly, reasserting her authority. "And we expect all of you to follow that advice. Settle in, crack open your books, and don't forget about curfew."

* * *

"Cor blimey!" Ron Weasley exclaimed to Harry Potter as they trudged into their dorm later that evening. The common room was still buzzing from their unexpected arrival via his father's flying Ford Anglia. "What a day! Fancy that Luna girl being a slimy snake! I guess you never can tell 'til they get sorted, eh?"

Potter chuckled sleepily. "Didn't you say she's a neighbor of yours?"

"Ginny knows her better than I do, but yeah. She lives with her father just a few miles from the Burrow. Right barmy, he is, and she didn't fall far from the tree. 'Course, he's supporting Dad's Muggle Protection Act so we have to be nice to him," Weasley guffawed and rummaged through his trunk for his pajamas. "Imagine, a muggle sympathiser going to Slytherin! That git Malfoy and his little friends are gonna hex her silly when they find out, but that's what you get for joining _them."_

"Speaking of Ginny ... did you think there was something strange about her back there? I don't think she said more than two words to anybody. She just wrote in that beat-up old diary the whole time."

Weasley shrugged. "Who knows? She's always been a little strange herself. I'm sure it's nothing. Let's get some shut-eye."


	3. A Howl and a Hack

_A/N: Thanks for keeping up with this story! My apologies for the delayed update. I hope you're enjoying Slytherin Luna. For those who are, you're going to get a lot more of her in this chapter; for others who still wonder how she could possibly coexist with her housemates and what her being a Slytherin can add to the story, you'll get a taste of that here and even more so in Chapter IV when canon really begins to shift. And a happy belated birthday to Luna! (February 13th.)_

* * *

morganna12: _I'm glad you find the story cute! That's one of the things I'm shooting for. Though this AU might explore more serious themes later on (it kind of has to, with a basilisk eventually stalking the halls), I'll try to keep it warm and funny all the way through._

sunset oasis: _I know you're especially fond of Blaise and Pansy and they'll continue to be important figures in the story. Blaise in particular has a key scene coming right up._

ifyoudieidie02: _Thank you for your compliments on my Sorting Hat song! I managed to cobble it together in half an hour or so. Glad you're looking forward to Snape meeting Luna, because that's happening in this chapter as well!_

jam99chgo: _Thanks for your comment; it got me thinking that the people who need a Slytherin Luna the most are the Slytherins themselves. xD The books and movies stereotyped them as a nasty and rather humourless bunch. Luna can bring out a lighter and more whimsical side to them as the story progresses._

* * *

 **III: A Howl and a Hack**

"That's ... not normal, Malfoy." Blaise stifled a yawn as he poured the tea.

Draco lay back contentedly on that one extra soft sofa in the common room that he never got to sit on because it was never unoccupied. Unless the time happened to be, say, around three in the morning. The lights in the dungeon grew even dimmer at this time, leaving every shape half veiled in blackness.

"No need to be so dramatic. Everyone has bad dreams."

"Not like that, they don't," the taller boy said sternly. "You woke every second-year in the dungeon, not to mention Frye Harper."

"What was that pest even doing in our room?"

"He's the only Slytherin boy in his year and he didn't feel like sleeping alone. Now, about the dream ... "

"Tea first."

Draco accepted the steaming cup with a nod of thanks. Of all his peers he would not have expected Blaise to be the one shaking him awake and leading him out of the dorms. The boy was fundamentally selfish and dealt with the world from behind a book—except when someone interrupted his sleep, apparently.

"Blaise, can I trust you?"

"Certainly not," his friend said, looking mildly offended at the notion.

"Allow me to rephrase: can I trust you under fear of very swift and painful consequences?"

Discomfort rippled across the dark features. "I suppose."

Draco smirked. "I thought so. You see, I've been dreaming about a snake."

"Which one of us? Not me, I hope."

"A real snake, very nasty and bloody huge, stalking me. I'm always standing in the dark so I never get a good look at it, but I feel stone shaking beneath my feet when it moves. I always hope it's not looking for me, that it's after someone else, but then I feel its stinking breath on the back of my neck ... "

"Sounds like Millicent," Blaise deadpanned.

"Breathe a word of this to anyone and I'll tell her you said that," Draco drank deeply from the teacup and sighed. "I haven't had a decent night's sleep all summer. It's recurring, and rather unpleasant."

"I gathered that from the screams. You'd better see Snape for a dreamless sleep draught and soon. Unless you'd rather be camping out here for the rest of the term."

* * *

Four hours later Draco's eyes fluttered open. The lights in the common room had brightened again and other Slytherins were going about their morning rituals. He felt surprisingly warm and glanced down to find a green blanket laid thoughtfully across his lap.

"Hullo."

He jumped up and threw the blanket off, startled but not entirely shocked to see _that girl_ sitting next to him. "Merlin's beard! Will you just stay away from me?"

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Malfoy. You had a serious wrackspurt infestation. It wouldn't be responsible of me to leave you alone."

"It was them made off with my shoes, was it?" he sneered, smoothing down his hair.

Luna stood up next to him with a frown of sympathy. "No, that was the nargles. I'll let you know if I find them."

"You'd better. They cost more than your whole wardrobe."

She held out his school robes. Blaise must have left them on the sofa along with the comforter. "You should slip these on over your dressing gown. Professor Snape will be here in a few minutes."

"Of course," he groaned, snatching the robes and throwing them over his head. A closer look at Luna indicated she was already dressed, but her house tie was a tangled mess. "Didn't you ever learn how to fasten a tie properly?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, very well. Hold still then." Draco stepped closer to her and started carefully redoing the tie. "Don't think I'm doing this to be nice. I just don't want a member of my house to look ridiculous, though I'm fairly certain you'll manage that anyway."

"I understand," she said benignly, and leaned closer to whisper something to him. "You look quite different when you're asleep, you know. Rather innocent really, even helpless. Easy prey for any magical creatures that might happen along."

He grit his teeth, fastening the knot a bit tighter than was necessary. "Are you trying to scare me, little girl?"

Luna's eyes searched him. He couldn't tell if they were challenging him or merely reflecting the dangerous gleam in his own. "Not at all, Malfoy. I want to protect you."

"I don't need your help," he said. He finished the tie and shoved her away.

The doors creaked open and Severus Snape stormed in as tall, dark, and greasy as ever, flanked by Farley and Selwyn. All activity in the common room stopped. Even the first-years knew enough to stand at attention as the Head of House's gaze swept over them. The silence grew oppressive as he awaited some unseen cue.

"I confess myself disappointed."

To a student, the Slytherins seemed to shrink. Almost every one of them knew what he must be referring to.

"During the summer I had almost convinced myself that last year's disgrace was nothing but a bad dream. Alas. I unlocked my office this morning to see only _one_ trophy, the Quidditch Cup, displayed along the wall. And the House Cup ... conspicuously absent."

The air in the chamber prickled with unease. Even the Prefects behind Snape looked ashamed.

"Indeed, I had a speech prepared," Snape continued in his low and unctuous voice. "To express in no uncertain terms my lack of sympathy for those who are entrusted with a great legacy and _fail_ to live up to it. My fury at seeing a once proud house reduced to an over-privileged gang of braggarts and bullies." His pale fingers twitched, as though he were tempted to subject them all to that very lecture. His eyes fell upon his godson. "However ... I understand that someone else has chosen to spare me that unhappy task. How unexpected. And yet, how appropriate, that it should be one of last year's worst offenders."

Now every eye in the room was trained on Draco as well. He looked ready to sink through the cracks in the stone floor.

"Therefore, with the past out of the way, I shall limit my remarks to the present. I expect all of you to conduct yourselves in a manner befitting Slytherin. That includes individual achievement as well as collective loyalty. Outside our chambers you shall present a united front; any in-house conflicts shall be brought before me and settled appropriately. Prove to me that you belong in the greatest house at Hogwarts, and you shall earn back the privileges you once enjoyed. I expect you to not only regain the prize we lost, but to do so with a vengeance. Keep an ear to the ground, an eye on your enemies, and a civil tongue in your head."

He turned abruptly to the only student not standing at attention. Rather, she was slowly bobbing up and down from one foot to the other, as though she had somewhere else to be.

"Am I _keeping_ you, Miss Lovegood?" he snapped.

"I'm afraid you are, Professor. The Sorting Hat said so."

Nervous laughter surfaced from the corners of the room, but it quickly died off as Snape bristled and stood at his full height. The barest hint of colour had surfaced on his cheeks. Everyone but Luna seemed to draw back. Morag Ollivander was clutching Frye Harper's arm hard enough to leave marks. Flora and Hestia hid behind Crabbe and Goyle. Draco shivered with anticipation as he awaited the wrath of the Potions Master.

The laser eyes searched her for any pretence of mockery—or any pretence whatsoever. Inexplicably, he found none.

"If I didn't know better, Miss Lovegood, I would say you were deliberately provoking your Head of House."

Luna answered him just as softly. "If I didn't know better than to deliberately provoke you, sir, I would not be in your house at all."

Uncertain of the student and the situation, Snape fell back on his natural inclination toward punishment. Deftly he reached up, plucked Luna's wand from behind her ear, and placed it in the pocket of her robe. "I am glad we understand each other. Detention for carrying your wand improperly. Tonight, eight o'clock."

"Very well, Professor," Luna said brightly.

Behind their leader, Farley looked on with bemused sympathy. Swarthy, curly-haired Selwyn smiled for the first time, but it was a nasty smile, not unlike a wild animal baring its teeth.

* * *

It was breakfast time in the Great Hall and the enormous chamber was buzzing. Jabbering and shouting from the Gryffindor table was contrasted by the polite murmurs of Hufflepuff and terse exchanges of Ravenclaw. The Slytherin table was easily the quietest, with students leaning into a series of hushed and overlapping conversations, and the first-years found themselves imitating that trend.

"What are you always writing on that notepad?" Morag Ollivander said suspiciously to Frye. Though she was a grandniece to the famous wandmaker in Diagon Alley, she seemed to lack his worldly wisdom and had done little more than brag about her pure-blood heritage.

Frye grinned as he scribbled away. "Oh, some of everything. Notes, reminders, embarrassing tidbits we can use against the other houses later. Never hurts to be prepared."

"I like the way you think, Frye," giggled second-year Daphne. "Shall we exchange any juicy gossip we stumble upon?"

"I'd be honored, Miss Greengrass. Your family's forgotten more about wizard society than most will ever know!"

"So where do you come from, anyway?" Hestia was asking Luna, who had already replaced her wand behind her left ear.

"Ottery St. Catchpole. It's rather out of the way and full of garden gnomes, but I don't mind. Their saliva can be quite beneficial. The Weasleys live there as well, though we don't often visit them."

"Those blood traitors?!" Hestia looked like she'd swallowed a lemon instead of the scrambled eggs on her plate. "I don't blame you. How awful. Don't you think, Flora?"

Flora nodded vehemently.

"Wait. Isn't your father Xeno Lovegood?" Hestia's eyes widened.

Luna smiled. "Quite right. He's a wonderful man, and a fine writer too. He publishes _The Quibbler."_

"But doesn't he support Arthur Weasley's ridiculous Muggle Protection Act?!"

Flora's mouth fell open. A sudden hush came over that part of the table.

"Oh, of course he does," the blonde girl nodded, causing her radish-shaped earrings to sway. "Just as he supports Lucius Malfoy's Cultural Preservation Initiative, and Dolores Umbridge's Postwar Rehabilitation Act. A good journalist supports as many public figures as he can. That way he can always get quotes from them."

"Your father's a smart man, Luna," Pansy cut in, dissipating any remaining tension. "Why confine yourself to one side of an issue when you can play all of them?"

Flora gave a smug nod of agreement.

"Too right, Parkinson. That's just how I mean to deal with all the other houses when I launch the Slytherin Scrawl!" Frye said with a flourish.

"Come again?"

"The Slytherin Scrawl, our very own weekly newsletter! Fine name, isn't it? Can you believe Ravenclaw is the only house that publishes one? Well, I'll change that soon enough. Anything they can do, we can do better. It'll be our very own public forum! Important happenings, Quidditch recaps, our best students who earn the most points for the house, the quest to regain the House Cup ... it will all be in there!"

Goyle thumped the excited boy on the back, causing him to spit out a mouthful of orange juice. "I say! That ain't a bad idea!"

"Oh, what do you care, Greg? You can't even read," Crabbe said.

"Oi! I can, too!"

"Chocolate frog cards don't really count, Goyle," Draco sniggered. "I heard that—"

 _"STEALING THE CAR, I WOULDN'T HAVE BEEN SURPRISED IF THEY'D EXPELLED YOU!"_ shrieked the deafening voice of a hysterical middle-aged woman. It was loud enough to rattle the silverware on all the tables and draw the attention of everyone in hall. _"YOU WAIT 'TIL I GET HOLD OF YOU! I DON'T SUPPOSE YOU STOPPED TO THINK WHAT YOUR FATHER AND I WOULD GO THROUGH WHEN WE FOUND IT MISSING ... "_

The whole Slytherin table fell out laughing. By now rumours had circulated that Harry Potter and Ron Weasley reached the school via some criminal means, but until now few had connected this with the flying car story in yesterday's _Evening Prophet._

Luna blinked. "My goodness. The blibbering humdingers certainly are loud today."

Draco rolled his eyes. "That's a howler, you silly girl."

"Is it now? I'd no idea werewolves were that articulate," remarked Frye, who was a half-blood and still clueless about some things.

 _" ... YOU AND HARRY COULD HAVE BOTH DIED ... ABSOLUTELY DISGUSTED, YOUR FATHER'S FACING AN INQUIRY AT WORK, IT'S ENTIRELY YOUR FAULT AND IF YOU PUT ANOTHER TOE OUT OF LINE WE'LL BRING YOU STRAIGHT BACK HOME!"_

"A howler is a verbal letter recorded by magic," Sophie explained to Frye. "If you get one from your parents, it usually means you're in trouble."

"And no one gets into more trouble than Potter and Weasley." Millicent pointed to the Gryffindor table where the usual suspects were blushing madly and sinking down in their chairs.

"Or gets punished less," Draco said with disgust. "They should have been drummed out of Hogwarts by now. Professor Snape's doing all he can, but of course old McGonagall and Dumbledore aren't about to let their precious Boy Who Lived and his grubby friends get expelled. We'll find some way to fix them, just you wait."

The bell sounded to end breakfast time, and hundreds of witches and wizards went their separate ways. Perhaps this cliché was never more appropriate than in the case of Luna and her childhood friend Ginny Weasley, a passionate firstie with long auburn hair and clear blue eyes. The girl was waiting for her at the main doors as she passed.

"I thought we were going to be friends," she said, staring at the silver and green tie with a mix of heartbreak and loathing.

"We still can be, if you wish it," Luna replied gently. "You've always been very kind to me. I wouldn't forget that sort of thing."

Ginny looked torn. She opened her mouth to speak, but a gaggle of her housemates came along chattering away and quickly swept her off.

* * *

"You summon me for the first time since June to ask _that?"_ the seventh-year student rasped irritably. He was bathing alone in the Prefect's chambers, cradling a roughly framed shard of glass in his hands. "Yes, the Potter boy and his pathetic admirers have all made it back to the school. There's nothing new to report there. I ... "

 _"Watch your tone, Selwyn."_ The cold and reedy voice seemed to come from nowhere. _"You will know why it's important in due time. For now, I need to make sure all the pieces are still in place."_

Selwyn had momentarily recoiled, but excitement now crept into his beady eyes. "Something's going to happen soon, isn't it? Something at Hogwarts. Something I can help you with—"

 _"IF you're not as dunderheaded and useless as you were last year ... perhaps."_

"I'm not, sir, I swear it! I'll do anything. I've been waiting so long, and I proved my loyalty last year, didn't I? Please let me do more!"

The other voice scoffed at him. _"Do yourself a favor and never remind me of Quirrell again. That cretin couldn't even drink unicorn blood without being discovered, much less provide a worthy vessel for the Dark Lord. He was warned against making unnecessary enemies, but obviously he didn't listen. Now we're back to where we started from. But our next chance will come. Until then ... prepare."_

"How? And for what?" the prefect moaned fervently.

 _"For the hunt,"_ the voice said with a hint of satisfaction. _"I may reveal more later. In the meantime do nothing unusual. And keep an eye out for anyone, no matter how small or insignificant, who might impede us."_

* * *

If Luna and her fellow first-years had expected their first day of classes to be a fun experience, they were sorely disappointed. While the second-years were learning about mandrakes in Herbology, they struggled to stay awake in History of Magic; while Malfoy and his friends were making fun of Potter for allegedly soliciting autographed photos, they trudged through Transfiguration with the Ravenclaws, most of whom came much closer to changing their matchsticks into needles. By the time the first D.A.D.A. class rolled around, they were all aching for something exciting to happen and they would get their wish, at least initially.

"Welcome, young Slytherins and Gryffindors," their histrionic professor announced, "to Gilderoy Lockhart's new, improved, and never-before-seen Defense Against the Dark Arts!"

He spun around and twirled his cape amid a burst of magical fireworks. Morag and the twins squealed and clapped their hands; Luna tilted her head in confusion and Frye simply yawned. While the girls all got to sit next to each other, as the odd man out he was stuck next to Gryffindor Colin Creevey. To his surprise, the boy didn't seem that bad and expressed a great interest in photojournalism.

Lockhart bowed deeply and flashed his vacuous smile. "Be it yetis, giants, inferi, hags, harpies, vampires, werewolves, dogs with bees in their mouths, or politicians ... I've faced all manner of dark creatures and lived to tell the tale! There is no man more qualified, no man more experienced, no man more ... "

"Terrified of cornish pixies?!" someone shouted from the back row.

"Pixies? Where?" the professor yelped. He barely stopped himself from ducking beneath his desk. "Er ... I mean, bring them on! I put them in their place once already and if only they were here, I would gladly do so again for your enjoyment. But since they are not, allow me to introduce our lesson plan for the first of what will surely be many enriching years as your Defense instructor."

"Not bloody likely," muttered mouthy first-year Gryffindor Andrew Kirke.

"Though it would take the entire class period for me to detail all of my prodigious accomplishments from top to bottom," Lockhart went on modestly. "My first piece of advice to all of you is to have no fear! Fear is a greater threat to us than any dark creature or its sinister doings. I describe this lifelong philosophy in great detail in my many books, especially _Marauding with Monsters, Break with a Banshee,_ and _Travels with Trolls ... "_

"He forgot _Homework with Hypocrites,"_ Frye whispered to Colin, who nearly choked with suppressed laughter.

Morag, who had been listening rapturously, turned to scowl at him. "What's that supposed to mean, Frye?"

"The pixies, of course! He let dozens of them loose with the second-years and fled the classroom."

"Harry and his friends had to recapture all of them!" Colin added. "Ron Weasley thinks he's a spineless coward."

Hestia and Flora both looked at the muggleborn shutterbug like he was a literal insect, though only Hestia spoke up. "Ron Weasley also thought flying an illegal deathtrap to Hogwarts was a great idea."

"Those Weasleys have been researching muggles for so long they've become just like them, filthy and barbaric," Morag said, shuddering.

Unfortunately she was overheard by a red-faced Ginny Weasley in the row in front of them, who opened her mouth to object.

"My father always said it's easier to pass judgment on people than it is to understand them," said Luna. "And that it's also a mistake, whether it's one person or six billion."

"So what?" snapped Morag.

"I know the Weasleys, well enough to understand them. And they're certainly not barbarians. They live quite peacefully, and are very conscientious about removing their garden gnomes."

"Oh, I hate those things," said Hestia, and the discussion quickly turned to what a bother gnomes were rather than the Weasleys' politics.

Morag huffed and turned her attention to the questionnaire Lockhart was passing out. Ginny shot a grateful look at Luna before turning back to a ratty old book she was trying to hide with her arms. Unaware that she was still being watched, she cracked it open with shaking fingers and jotted something down.

* * *

Severus Snape was beginning to feel old.

Perhaps this was unreasonable. At 32 he was one of the youngest professors at Hogwarts; his superior Albus Dumbledore was well over 100. Nevertheless, he sometimes felt as though he'd been teaching potions forever. No doubt, he thought as he hunched brooding over his desk, a lack of enthusiasm for the subject was part of it. While he was one of the wizarding world's few true Potions Masters, able to brew the most sensitive and complicated solutions with his eyes closed, they were not his passion. The subject had felt like a chore when he was a student, and now that he was a professor it felt like a daily slap in the face. His only true pleasures were teaching his godson, taking points away from Gryffindors, and stumbling upon the odd student who was actually competent.

Pandora Lovegood had been the first of these. The Ravenclaw was already a wife and mother when she returned to Hogwarts for her unfinished seventh year in 1982. She was one of the few witches whose life had not been touched by the tragedies of the First Wizarding War, and his first really exemplary student in potions. She even invented a few; creativity was always her strongest suit. She was also trustworthy, secretive, and a nature lover. Mentoring her was both an inspiration and an escape from the horrors he had seen—and caused—just a few short years before. Those were far more pleasant days, when he sincerely believed that Voldemort was dead and he could be a good enough teacher to make a difference in a postwar world, enough to one day forgive himself for Lily. Even Pandora's husband Xenophilius, seemingly a useless crackpot, wasn't all bad; he was capable of political astuteness and even cunning in his more lucid moments. Snape had to admit (if only to himself and while drunk) that the man _could_ have been a Slytherin.

Pandora remembered Snape with fondness and continued to write him after her graduation. The news of her death was like a blow to the stomach; she'd been experimenting with new and wildly unstable spells, and eventually one of them flared out of control in her basement. Snape never learned the details and didn't particularly wish to. He'd had enough of death to last a lifetime.

The fighters, the dreamers, and the innovators died young—while the charlatans, the connivers, and the cowards survived. That lesson had never resonated more than it did this year, with an incompetent celebrity teaching the position he coveted and a calculating old busybody as Headmaster. And then there was Snape himself: the prickly loner, the craven sneak, the petty tyrant of the dungeons. He was all of that ... and the sick thing was, he'd actually grown rather proud of it.

Until Luna Lovegood traipsed into his life and his house, and made him feel older than _Quidditch._ Oh, he was going to make her suffer. That went without saying. No student who evoked bad memories, or good ones for that matter, could ever go unscathed. It was only a question of how great her suffering would be. He had no doubt that her sorting had been a punishment by the fates, and rather than take it lying down, he fully intended to pass it on to her.

He blinked irritably at a slow and steady knock on his office door. "Enter."

She was a small girl with long waves of dirty blonde hair hanging free down her back. Her face and stature were Pandora's, but he'd noted earlier with some relief that she had her father's eyes, and undoubtedly his manner. Where her mother had been practical and focused, Luna wore an expression of permanent wonderment. She took in his office not with a wavering sweep of her eyes as most people did, but a series of random glances. Her wand was no longer behind her ear.

"Please excuse me for being early, Professor," she said, which was not a line Snape got to hear often. "I left myself some time in case I should encounter any mysterious beasties on my way to detention."

"'Beasties' this school has in abundance, Miss Lovegood, but there is precious little mystery about many of them. Now, if you'd care to begin sorting my books ... " With barely concealed glee Snape gestured to his private shelves, which he had deliberately left a mess all summer.

"Oh, I see mysteries almost everywhere," Luna mused as she skipped over to the shelf and set about removing every book. Most students made a useless effort to organise them the easy way before reaching this point. She also hadn't missed the tiny chart on the wall indicating they should be sorted by author and not by title. Evidently she was not quite as oblivious as she seemed. "None on your shelf, though. It's all nonfiction. That's a shame."

Snape rolled his eyes. "Much as I would enjoy your critique of my library, I suggest you use what little sense you have demonstrated to organise it instead. Preferably in silence."

 _Leave me alone so I can hate you,_ was what he didn't say. There was blessed quiet, then a shuffling of books. Snape let his breath out slowly. That wasn't so bad, he thought as he walked over to his stores and began measuring out the ingredients for tomorrow's lessons. The minutes ticked away peacefully, and deepening night brought a familiar chill into the dungeons. Eventually the clock chimed nine. Snape glanced up to see that Luna had finished organizing the books and was gazing upward with great interest. He followed her eyes and saw only a depressingly familiar stone ceiling.

"You may go, Miss Lovegood," he said testily.

"Please, just one minute more."

That was another line he didn't hear often. He watched, hopelessly confused, as she followed whatever invisible drama was unfolding in the dank air. Her eyes drifted and danced like two silver fireflies. Finally, she gave a small sigh of appreciation and nodded politely.

"Good night, Professor. I shall look forward to potions."

Snape waved his hand dismissively as she skipped away, as cheerful and inscrutable as she'd been when their hour began. He felt suddenly disappointed. Despite how cold and insulting he'd been, none of it seemed to reach her. Smiling and daydreaming through detention? Looking forward to his class?! What was _wrong_ with this girl? His methods had been too lenient, he decided. The next time he found an excuse to punish her, he would think up something much worse.

* * *

Draco stood alone in a sightless void. Other sensations came to him gradually; the air was damp and chilled him to the bone, its acrid and musty odors almost unbearable. He felt rough-hewn stone beneath his feet, and the sounds ... what were these noises he heard? These heavy, watery echoes in the dark that were coming ever closer?

He was powerless. He had the distinct impression that his body was not his own, his life no longer his to direct. That he was meddling with great and terrible things that towered miles above him. Obstructed him. Hated him. Why?

Then came the shift. The darkness warping, rippling before him as his eyes adjusted; a set of slithering coils. A long, low hiss of contempt. He tried to run, but it was everywhere; the monstrous thing had encircled him and there was no escape, he realised as it moved and undulated about him, toying with its prey.

And then, when he turned away from the lashing tail, came the most terrible eyes he had ever looked into.

Draco woke to his own screams in the empty common room. Things were getting serious, he decided after taking a few minutes to recover and wipe the sweat from his face. This time it had been more vivid than ever. This dream was drastically affecting him, robbing him of sleep and energy and potentially compromising his future. And, worse than all of that put together ... it was mussing his hair.

Blaise had been right. Something must be done immediately.


	4. Not So Loony

_A/N: Hi! I know you want more Lunacy so I'll keep this short. I've managed to lay a proper foundation for this story; now to see how I can build on that. Slytherin is generally acknowledged in the HP community as a house that takes care of its own (often to the detriment of its relations with the other houses), and I think that's exactly what Luna needed: an environment where she won't be teased and have her things stolen, at least not by her peers. The nargles on the other hand ... who knows what they might do? Keep an eye out for more canon stuff in this chapter, including the famous "Mudblood" scene at the first Quidditch practise. Things might happen a little differently with Luna there ..._

* * *

Sunset Whispers: _I really appreciate your feedback on every chapter! It's a lot of fun to put Draco and Luna in the same place and just let their opposite personalities bounce off of each other. Even I don't know if she's giving him a hard time on purpose or just being Luna. If it is intentional, maybe it's because she wants him to help him in a way, like Pansy and Blaise do. I haven't decided exactly what's up with Selwyn yet either, but making two-way mirror calls in the bath? He's a weirdo at the very least. xD_

sunset oasis: _Thank you so much for your observations. You make a great point about how easily Draco gets riled up by Luna. In fact, he reacts that way to a lot of things that don't meet his expectations. He is often portrayed in fan fiction as a suave charmer, but when I really look at him he's the opposite: an insecure kid who hasn't learned how to deal with people or the modern wizarding world. To improve and grow he needs a friend with very thick skin, one "pure" enough to be legit in his eyes but who challenges many of his other expectations. That's Luna, and though Draco has tried mightily to resist her, sooner or later he might start to open up ..._

* * *

 **IV: Not So Loony**

"All right," Draco said, clapping his hands harshly as he approached the common room with his friends. "Second-years, take five minutes to gather your things and then we're all off to the library. History of Magic is over, thank goodness, so it's time we had an extra study session. Everyone clean out your ears for Theodore and Sophie, they'll be doing the real teaching as usual ... "

"Aw, you're such a slave driver, Malfoy," whined Goyle.

"Let us relax, will you?" Millicent agreed. "It's Friday and we've still got Quidditch tryouts."

Blonde, doll-faced Daphne also balked. "My hand still hurts from taking notes on the Veela-Leprechaun Wars."

"That's the _Vampire_ -Leprechaun Wars!" Draco corrected her. "See what I mean? It's you three who need it most of all. I can't remember the last time any of you earned a single point for Slytherin."

Sophie, who never turned down an opportunity to go to the library, nodded her head so eagerly her glasses almost rattled. "I agree with Malfoy. Professor Snape told us that getting this house up to speed requires a group effort as well as an individual one."

"But if some of you would rather laze about in the common room and ignore his advice, then feel free to do so," Pansy said, sweeping her hazel eyes threateningly over the group. "At your own peril, of course."

The stragglers uneasily looked away and muttered their agreement. No one wanted to be on Pansy Parkinson's bad side. Draco led the way to a secluded corner of the library where they took out a few books on leprechaun and vampire history and quickly went to work. Theodore and Sophie's lectures included numerous editorial comments on how all nonhumans were generally disgusting, but they condensed the material in a manner that was far more digestible than Binns' mind-numbing prattle. They finished up a week ahead of everyone else in their history texts, a tactic guaranteed to earn them precious house points in a class most students openly slept through.

"I'm knackered," Crabbe told Goyle under his breath as the lesson neared its end.

The other behemoth nodded and massaged his forehead. "Wish the ickle firsties were here. At least they'd say something funny."

"Too right. Where are they anyway?"

Goyle chuckled. "Their first potions class with the kitties. Double session."

 _"Shhhh."_ Blaise frowned in their direction, and they quickly fell silent.

* * *

"My first instruction shall be to put your wands away; you will not be needing them in this class," Severus Snape said coldly. He paced from one end of the potions room to the other while the students obeyed him, hands clasped tightly behind his back. "It is no great feat to channel one's magical energy through a stick and change a beetle into a cockroach, though I suspect even a spell _that_ elementary is quite beyond you. The depth of a wizard's soul can be seen not in his enchantments ... "

Here Snape paused and snatched up a crucial implement from Andrew Kirke and Vicky Frobisher's desk.

" ... But in his cauldron. Potions is not merely a subject. It is a science and an art, one that precious few wizards and witches truly understand. I have seen a mere handful of prodigies next to yearbooks full of walking disasters. In my eleven years as potions master this classroom has been blown up at least thirty times and evacuated about once per month; I have had to rush over a hundred students to the infirmary due to the effects of a poorly or illegally brewed potion ... and many of them were first-years. Precision matters. Pay close attention to everything you do in my class."

He paused long enough for this sobering announcement to sink in. Hestia Carrow looked pale and frightened while Flora silently patted her hand. Frye was afraid to even look at him and instead took endless notes, while Morag sat up straight and defiantly returned the teacher's gaze.

Luna was reading one of her textbooks sideways as her confused partner, Ginny Weasley, looked on.

"Lovegood!" Snape burst out. "What are the properties of knotgrass?"

Luna thought for a moment. "A kind of grass it is, sir, that often grows in knots."

The other students tittered audibly, but Snape was not amused.

"'Tis quite difficult to walk through, especially at night during the new moon ... which as you know is the only time when one might see umgubular slashkilters," Luna added helpfully amid another round of giggles. "But it also happens to be when they are most unpredictable. They're most dangerous to Scotsmen, you see, though considering their name I suppose that goes without saying."

The potions master looked on impassively, his class dangerously close to dissolving in laughter. "And is there some reason why, in that load of unmitigated rubbish, you did not bother to mention what knotgrass is used for in magic?"

"Certainly, sir," she replied seriously. "You didn't ask."

"Describe three _magical_ properties of knotgrass, _now,_ or I shall send you to the headmaster immediately for disrupting my class."

The blonde gazed up at him serenely. "It is used in knotgrass mead, to make polyjuice potion, and to stunt the growth of magical creatures, a practise which was outlawed in 1859."

The mood of the classroom immediately shifted. Slytherins and Gryffindors alike were looking at her with surprise, and even Snape seemed mollified.

"One point to Slytherin. And ... " He plucked her wand from behind her left ear and placed it on her desk. "Detention for carrying your wand improperly. Tonight, eight o'clock. I suggest you bring a toothbrush."

"Very well, Professor."

* * *

Ginny Weasley wanted to write.

Even as she picked at her dinner in the Great Hall, trying to think of what she would do for fun on her first weekend at Hogwarts, struggling to follow Colin Creevey and Jack Sloper's rapid-fire conversation about how great Harry Potter was, the urge lingered in the back of her mind.

Okay, so she had heard of very few enchanted diaries that were capable of writing back to their owners, and she couldn't recall a single instance in which that had actually been a _good_ thing ... but maybe this was an extremely rare exception. Maybe she, Ginny Weasley from Podunk St. Elsewhere, England who had never owned or achieved anything particularly special, was just that lucky. And the diary was completely innocuous, and no harm could ever come of pouring her heart and soul into it, and the fact that it had evolved from a curiosity to a compulsion was due to a quirk in her personality rather than any problem with the book itself.

Yes, that must be it. A strange little quirk. Maybe she would write to Tom about it.

In fact, she needed to write to Tom about it soon. Now. Yesterday if possible.

"Not hungry. Have to go. See you later," she mumbled to random Gryffindors in turn as she passed them on her way to the exit. She accidentally caught Cormac McLaggen with a nasty elbow to the small of the back, causing him to spit out pumpkin juice into his mashed potatoes. "'Scuse me." Almost ran into a pillar. Blimey, what was that doing there? Right ... holding up the Great Hall. Well, she could let it slide. Around the pillar, straight to the nearest exit from where Gryffindor Tower beckoned.

A fair, cheerful, and extremely handsome face suddenly loomed in her path. "Why, Miss Weasley, what a delightful surprise! Rather in a rush, aren't you?"

"Um, hi Professor Lockhart," she said, hopping from one foot to the other. Hermione and all the other girls in Gryffindor would likely be awestruck and blushing like mad if he greeted them this way, but honestly his company wasn't all _that_ interesting and Ginny was quite preoccupied. "I have to go talk to a, um, friend. In the Gryffindor common room."

"Oh, but you must still be finding your way around the castle. Would you like me to escort you?" he asked courteously.

"No, no, I'll be fine. Thanks, bye. Love the hair." Ginny smiled inanely and ducked around him.

"Why, thank you! Won all sorts of awards, you know ... not to mention the smile! My smile alone ... "

His voice faded into the distance as she raced off to the tower. Once in the common room she waved glibly to a few random people before jogging breathlessly into her dorm and opening her bag. She took out the diary and cradled it to her chest, almost crying with happiness. Oh, it had been much too long. She'd been mad to think she could get all the way through dinner without this.

She opened it and grabbed a pen with shaking hands.

 _I love you, Tom. I'm so glad I have you to talk to._

A pause as her words were absorbed. Then, new ones appeared by themselves.

 **I love you too, Ginny. Before you came along I was just a memory stuck in a book. Now, reading your amazing thoughts and experiences and feeling your energy ... let's just say I feel alive again.**

She actually squeaked with happiness. Fortunately she was alone in the dorm and no one heard. She wrote more as soon as the page cleared.

 _It seems strange to say this, but you're my best friend. Even better than Luna!_

 **You've said nice things about this Luna before. Who is she?**

 _Oh, we've been friends since we were children and we still are now, even though she went to Slytherin! I can't believe it. My brothers always told me Slytherins were awful, but Luna isn't like that at all. She's a really nice blonde girl with funny light grey eyes that look straight through you. She's rather odd and says funny things about her father's magazine and animals that I don't think exist, but I like her anyway. She's so kind and honest to everyone she meets, even muggleborns!_

A pause. Then, in a slow hand:

 **Even muggleborns, you say.**

Ginny giggled. She knew they weren't Tom's favorite topic of conversation.

 _Yes, even muggleborns. You probably wouldn't get along._

* * *

Saturday morning was clear and warm, and the '92 Slytherin Quidditch team squinted and groaned in the sunlight as they shuffled out of the dungeons.

"Merlin! I've gone blind, I 'ave," cried Graham Montague. He was a rough, dirty player with a dark crew cut and large, hairy forearms.

Fellow chaser Adrian Pucey, a tall and lanky boy with gelled black hair, laughed and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry mate, that shouldn't hurt your flying any." He whooped and pretended to reel from the playful punch Montague sent his way.

Third chaser and team captain Flint growled at them. "Enough screwing around, you two. I had to get special permission from Snape to book our first practise this early, and we're not going to waste a minute."

"I say, Flint, how'd you pull that off?" asked keeper Miles Bletchley.

"Told him we had to train our baby seeker, of course!"

Flint grinned and reached out to ruffle the hair of none other than Draco Malfoy, who ducked away with great agility. Tryouts yesterday had been hell with how little sleep he was getting, but this was still one of the best days of his life. He was so proud he was walking slue-footed, periodically looking up at the larger boys—and one girl—in amazement.

"Not to mention our first girl player in years, eh?" Beater Lucian Bole turned to his new partner Millicent Bullstrode, seized her hand, and attempted to plant a sloppy kiss on it. "Fair maiden! Wilt thou bear but a touch of my lips?"

"Oi! Geroff, you," Millicent hooted. "You're going to make me drop my new broom."

Montague held his up so that it gleamed in the sunlight. "Bloomin' lovely they are, Malfoy. Your dad's a right generous man."

"That he is. And congratulations again, Mil," Draco said politely. "I did tell you she was good, didn't I, Flint?"

The captain nodded, still looking preoccupied. "Aye, you did. I thought she was dead even with Perry Derrick at tryouts, so I asked our new commentator to help me decide."

"New commentator?" Draco turned to his other side, where Flint was pointing.

"Hullo," said Luna Lovegood. She had seemingly appeared from nowhere and was strolling quite casually beside him, staring up at the sky. That baffling tendency had already endeared her to Professor Sinistra; she did well in her first Astronomy class and earned a nice handful of points, according to Frye who kept a running tally of such things.

"Why am I not surprised?" Draco sighed. "I thought you'd be sleeping in after that Friday night detention. What was it, two hours Snape had you scrubbing the office floor with a toothbrush? How could you stand it?"

She spun around and clapped her hands with delight. "Oh, I just kept smiling and watching the soggamumps. They put on quite a show for me."

"Soggamumps."

"Slimy little creatures that spawn on damp stone floors and ceilings. Not nearly as cute or clever as the nargles, mind, but they are still most amusing! They sympathise with students in detention, you see, for they've no more power to leave their environment than we do. It's sad, really."

Draco didn't bother to debate the existence of her ridiculous magical creatures. He wasn't sure why he cared at all. The elaborate fantasies Luna conjured up to distract her from her problems (and he believed there were many) shouldn't mean anything to him. But still Snape's punishments seemed excessive. Maybe he ought to ...

No, never mind. That kind of thinking was decidedly un-Malfoy, and besides, maybe the girl would learn something about proper decorum.

"So how'd you get picked for commentary?" he asked, changing the subject.

"For my voice, I expect. Quite a few Slytherins have a bad habit of drawling or whispering, so that others can't overhear their conversations. Flint says I've a nice clear voice, even if I am half bonkers."

The other team members chortled. Flint looked a bit awkward. "You heard that, did you?"

"Yes. You weren't as quiet as you thought when you were talking to Bole."

"Well, sorry. I didn't necessarily mean that, see ... I was just fooling around," Flint rubbed the back of his neck irritably. "Anyway it's not often our house even nominates a commentator, and McGonagall will never get rid of that fool Lee Jordan 'til he graduates anyway, but ... "

"It was a nice thing to do," said Luna.

Bletchley let out his high, trilling laugh. "Just don't let it get around. Flint's reputation'll never recover!"

"Yeah, yeah," growled their red-faced captain. "Laugh it up while you can, 'cause you're not gonna feel like it after what I do to you lot in drill."

"Speaking of which," Pucey said, pointing as they walked onto the pitch, "It would seem that we have company."

Draco turned to see the entire Gryffindor team was already there, flying around and rehearsing maneuvers. Pampered, self-righteous boy celebrity Harry Potter was racing with those insufferable Weasley twins Fred and George, while Colin Creevey sat in the otherwise empty stands and snapped away with his camera. Oliver Wood, their fanatical captain, was already barking out orders.

"Shame there's no place to hide," Draco remarked. "If we'd known they were here, we could have spied on them."

"Good thinking, Malfoy," Flint said, smiling from ear to ear. "But now that you mention it, there's no need. We've already got somebody tailing 'em."

"Who?" Montague said curiously.

"Their first name is None of Your Business, and their last name is Only Marcus Flint Needs to Know Who I Am, So Bugger Off," the captain said impatiently. "Now leg it!"

By now the rivals in red had noticed them and were dropping down from the sky. Oliver Wood was so furious he dismounted his broom too roughly and almost fell on his face. "Flint! This is _our_ practise time! We got it specially, so you can clear off now!"

Potter and the Weasley twins looked at them as though they smelled something rotten. Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, and Katie Bell had come over as well and were all shooting nasty looks at Millicent. The Slytherins stood shoulder to shoulder without budging.

Flint's irritated look had been replaced by one of cunning. "Plenty of room for all of us, wouldn't you say, Wood?"

"But I booked the pitch!" Wood raved, like a child throwing a tantrum. "I booked it, I tell you!"

"I'm afraid Professor Snape would disagree." Flint pulled a note from his pocket and read aloud with great self-importance: _"I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practise today at eight o'clock A.M. on the Quidditch pitch, owing to the need to train their new seeker and beater."_

Millicent gave them a sardonic salute.

"It's true," said Luna as she fingered her necklace. "I watched him write that note just last night."

"A new seeker, too? Where?" Wood snapped at Flint. He looked around wildly before his eyes settled on Luna. "Don't tell me it's _you._ You're too young and barely on the planet. The Weasleys warned us about you."

"Wrong as usual, Wood," said Draco as he proudly stepped out from behind the seven other figures, smirking all over his pale and pointed face. "The new seeker happens to be me."

Fred Weasley looked on with resentment. "Aren't you Lucius Malfoy's son?"

"Funny you should mention Malfoy's father," Flint replied, as his teammates' smiles grew even wider. "Allow me to show you his generous contribution to the Slytherin team."

All seven players were thrilled to display their brand new Nimbus Two Thousand Ones. The matte black paint on the handles was impeccable, and their fancy gold lettering gleamed in the sun. Draco was delighted to see the Gryffindors irate with jealousy; Potter kept a white-knuckled grip on his old Nimbus and glared hatred. Draco gave it right back, reducing his cold eyes to little more than slits. He thought back to his first year when he approached the boy on the train with a sincere offer of friendship and Potter wouldn't even deign to shake his hand. And if his personality weren't bad enough, he had no appreciation for his lineage at all; he'd gone directly against Draco's advice by fraternizing with muggleborns and traitors, who now tromped all over the school as if they owned it.

Speaking of which, here came Potter's two friends, defiling the field with their footsteps and gawking at his new playing robes. Some things never changed.

"Couldn't stay away, could you, Weasley?" Millicent cackled, holding up her new broomstick again and enjoying his gobsmacked expression. "I know, I know, you're wishing you'd gone into our house when you had the chance, but it's too late now."

"Not that there _was_ any chance of that," Draco added. "Unlike Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, we have standards. I can't blame you for admiring our new brooms. My father's a hard man, as your family knows quite well, but he knows how to spend his money. Don't worry, perhaps your team can update its equipment as well. You could start by raffling off your brothers' Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them."

"At least no one on Gryffindor's team had to buy their way in," Hermione Granger said in that bossy, obnoxious voice of hers. "They got in on pure talent."

It was just like the Gryffindors to slander them before a single game had been played. Draco's smug expression faltered, twisting into one of revulsion as he looked at the muggleborn witch. He yearned to call her the puffed up little mudblood she was; his tongue actually itched. He hungered to see pain on that prissy little face. But then he remembered Snape's orders on their first day of classes: ear to the ground, eye on your enemies ... civil tongue.

His eyes flicked towards Lovegood. Sure enough, there she was beside him, watching him carefully. She had detention with their imposing Head of House almost every night. If he stepped out of line, Luna was liable to blurt it out to Snape, and what better way to back up his tough new stance than to make an example of his own godson?

Bloody hell. He would just have to use his head and go another route.

 _"Buy_ my way in!" Draco retorted icily. "So you think you're qualified to judge Quidditch talent, do you, Granger? _You've_ dreamed of playing seeker for your house all your life? _You_ spent five years learning how to execute a perfect Plumpton Pass? And I suppose _your_ father's made you practise in freezing rain until your lips turned blue?"

Potter and Weasley looked at each other. Granger pouted. "Of course not! But—"

"You mean you're _not_ qualified?!" Draco cried out, feigning shock. "And you're just a Muggleborn teacher's pet who never played Quidditch in her life? I thought so. But since you're always so desperately eager to learn, I'll give you some notes to take down: all four teams at Hogwarts have a long history of being equipped by wealthy alumni, your friend Saint Potter's broom was bought by his own Head of House, and Flint here ran me ragged during tryouts to make sure I was good enough."

"And even if you think it improper that Malfoy here made seeker after his father's donation," Luna added with a dreamy smile, "Potter being allowed to try out in his first year was not only improper, but quite against the rules."

"That was different!" Granger protested weakly. "That was a case of ... well, I mean ... "

"Don't embarrass yourself, Granger," Draco snickered, his mood now greatly improved. Maybe that Luna girl was good for something after all.

Ron Weasley was studying her as well, with a look of great suspicion. "You keep out of this, Loony. You're one of _them_ now and no one cares what you think."

"But you've never shown any interest in what I thought, Ronald, or how I felt," Luna said in that same voice as though she were discussing the weather. "Even before I was sorted. I'm quite happy now to have friends who do care, who won't call me Loony, and are civil to me even when their parents are not in the room."

Pucey chimed in. "But you're right about one thing, freckles: she is one of us, so you'd better mind your words from now on."

"And 'Loony'?" Flint guffawed. "That's the best insult you could come up with, Weasley? Sorry your parents can't buy you a decent set of wits. Or anything else, for that matter."

"Shut up, you bloody troll!" Weasley snapped and drew his wand, a broken hand-me-down that fired his intended spell from the wrong end. The hex hit him square in the chest and he fell back on the grass, where he began vomiting an alarming number of squirming, greasy gastropods.

"I may look like a troll, but at least I don't try to eat like one, eh Weasley?" Flint roared, laughing so hard he had to prop himself up on his Nimbus. The rest of the team was also helpless with laughter; Draco fell to his knees and pounded the ground with his fist. The only snake who didn't join in was Luna, who looked on with a faint smile as though nothing were out of place. None of the Gryffindors seemed to want to touch Weasley, but eventually Potter helped him stumble off, and the rival team angrily vacated the pitch.

"Herpo's balls!" Draco wheezed. "My sides ... Luna, how can you not laugh at that?"

Hearing him use her name, Luna broke into a big smile. "I've seen it before."

Draco burst into a fit of giggles all over again. She offered her hand and he took it, still glowing as he dusted off his dark green robes. "You mean Weasley's been making blunders like that this whole life? You've got to tell me all of them."

"Perhaps I shall tell you one later, Malfoy, if ... "

He chafed with impatience. "If?"

She whispered in his ear. "If you tell me what's been troubling your sleep."

He paused. Every night this week the dream had come; every morning he would wake with Luna sitting nearby and watching him with a slightly clouded expression that meant concern. Every time she would ask him what was wrong, but Draco wasn't one to tell his secrets to just anybody. She was maddeningly persistent, and he doubted she would ever leave him alone until he spilled the beans. But once he did, could he trust her to keep it to herself? If not, he would have a problem. Signs of weakness in Slytherin house were rarely tolerated and often exploited.

"I'll think about it," he hedged. "What are you doing tonight?"

"I have an eight-o-clock detention with Professor Snape."

That took the decision out of his hands. He felt relieved and yet oddly disappointed. "What in blazes did you do to get detention on a Saturday? Never mind, I don't want to know. Perhaps some other time then."

Her expression was completely neutral. If she felt dejected about being blown off, she didn't let it show. "Yes. Some other time. Have a good practise, Malfoy."

* * *

The Slytherin Prefects' meetings tended to go quite efficiently. The other houses held theirs on weekdays and spent hours whinging about unimportant matters. But the snakes, having embraced the fact that nothing ever really got done at meetings anyway, confined their business to friendly weekend sessions—sometimes too friendly, if the headaches they'd woken up with last Sunday were any indication.

"All right, call to order," Gemma Farley said as she swept into the stuffy office and tossed her papers on the expensive mahogany table. Like the other prefects, she was dressed in her casual robes. She fell into her chair next to Richard Selwyn, who was a seventh-year like herself, and appropriately (or inappropriately depending on whom you asked), they got on very well indeed.

"You look ravishing today, love," he greeted her, reaching out and squeezing her hand.

"I know," she said playfully. "Now behave yourself, Richard. We've got all weekend. Prefects, any comments about our last meeting?"

Cyril Meakin, a pudgy fifth-year with a Cockney accent, raised his hand. "Well, we weren't expecting to get much done anyway ... but in hindsight, I think the open bar was a mistake."

"Trouble holding your liquor, Meakin?" said gaunt sixth-year Nicolas Grimmett.

"I'm merely stating that firewhiskey and strip poker aren't _necessarily_ in the spirit of official school business. Not that we all didn't enjoy partaking ... well, except for you, Alex."

He gestured to the other sixth-year Alexandra Sykes, noted teetotaler and prude, who sniffed and rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, Alex. At least have a little fun before you go off and spend the rest of your life in the Ministry," said Damian Perriss, a half-blood from the countryside. Little was known about him save his abiding interest in chickens.

Gemma cleared her throat. "Right, to this week's business then. Firsties are doing all right. The creepy twins are model Slytherins, the Ollivander kid shows some promise, Harper the half-breed is all over _everything;_ he already wants to start a newsletter."

"Sounds lovely. I'd read it," said Sykes.

"And the Lovegood girl already has three detentions, all given by Snape."

"Bloody hell. Did she kill his owl or something?" Grimmett said.

"Not likely. Girl loves animals, especially fictional ones. Don't think any of us has had a problem with her, right?"

Headshakes all around.

"Only that she doesn't seem like much of a Slytherin," Grimmett said.

"There are all sorts of ways to be a good Slytherin, Nic. Second-years are fine; the Malfoy boy and his gang are actually trying, it seems. I daresay this is going to be an interesting year."

"I think so too, Gem." Selwyn smiled faintly. His unseen fingers tightened around something in his pocket. "Very interesting indeed."


	5. Fear and Loathing in Las Serpientes

_A/N: If you're still following the story, then good for you because this is when things start to get serious. There_ _will still be funny stuff, but the friendship elements will also come to the fore, and adventure won't be far behind._

 _This chapter's title is an homage to the famous book (and movie) 'Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas' by one of the most interesting and brutally honest journalists who ever lived, Hunter S. Thompson. Among the many things you'll see in this chapter is Frye Harper's first article for the_ Slytherin Scrawl, _and his style is partly inspired by Thompson's work. I hope you enjoy!_

* * *

Bartholomew Black: _Thanks for your review! We see AU stories where one or more of the main characters are sorted into Slytherin all the time, but I never saw one with Luna so I decided to give it a shot._

Sunset Whispers: _I think Draco's childhood has prepared him for a life in which equally cynical people will always be trying to get something out of him. Not that he has a problem with that; he is a Slytherin after all. But he's not used to other kids caring about him without strings attached._

* * *

 **V: Fear and Loathing in Las Serpientes**

A void. Alienation. A long, low hiss.

Draco knew the drill. He ducked his head and, against every instinct, ran straight at the first part of the monster that came into view. It was coiled all around him to cut off any escape routes, leaving him no choice but to fight the thing or die. It was a cold, unfeeling leviathan that couldn't be reasoned with; nothing he said to it—and yes, he'd threatened it with his father's wrath _many_ times—made any difference.

It always captured him. It always looked into his eyes. And the infernal snake wasn't even the worst of it. The scariest thing was never knowing who he was in this dream. He couldn't see himself or feel any distinguishing features. Essentially, he was no one. He wouldn't be recognised. He wouldn't be saved.

It was a feeling he did not wish on the worst of his pure-blood enemies. Well, maybe Weasley.

The snake hissed once more in short bursts, as if it was laughing at him.

He vaulted over a lazy sweep of its tail and kept running, knowing the end would come soon. The head darted playfully into the backs of his knees, taking him off his feet. And as he looked up, defeated once more, two soul-searing yellow eyes found his.

Draco screamed; the formless dark above him became a glimmering dungeon ceiling, and something was holding him much like his mother had on those nights before he left for Hogwarts. Without thinking he returned the embrace and shut his eyes again, babbling the most desperate sort of nonsense. The dream felt more real every time, and tonight's new and improved version was the greatest terror he had felt since last year's detention in the Forbidden Forest, when he stood right behind Harry Potter and stared through the trees at ...

At something he'd tried to forget about ever since, especially when the rumors came out about Professor Quirrell and he realised what the man must have been _doing,_ and for whom. Draco had never spoken of it, not even to his father or his mother, whose hugs he once thought were warm enough to banish any nightmare.

The person he clung to at the moment was not his mother. It was no grown woman at all but a delicate, scraggly-haired wisp of a girl; the frail shoulder he'd just cried on felt smaller than his own. Her skin smelled of soap and peaches. As his mind cleared, there was no question who it was.

This was not merely embarrassing. Her stealing his shoes had been embarrassing. This was _mortifying,_ and in the hands of any other Slytherin, outstanding blackmail material. Thank goodness it was only her. Perhaps he could still salvage a modicum of dignity.

"The slumber party's over, Luna," he sighed. "Now let go of me."

She did, sinking to her knees on the couch beside him. Draco surveyed the common room, partly to avoid looking at her. The chamber was dark and empty save for the two of them. Since all the windows looked out into the lake, he couldn't see the sky, but he assumed it must be very early in the morning. The air felt heavy and thick with tension. Reluctantly, he looked back at Luna in her odd powder blue nightdress with absurdly puffy sleeves. She returned his gaze with a troubled look on her face.

Hoping to stall for time, he reached down to the sofa cushion and picked up the most bizarre apparatus he had ever beheld. It looked like an old ear horn painted a psychedelic rainbow of colors, attached to a thick elastic band meant to secure it to the cranium.

"What in the blue hell," he said curiously, holding the thing between finger and thumb, "is _this?"_

"An emergency de-wrackspurting kit. You woke up before I had a chance to use it. I had my father owl it to me when I found out about your problem." She looked at him expectantly. "About your dreams."

It would be most unseemly to cry all over someone without even telling them what was wrong afterwards. There was nothing for it. He had to spill the beans.

Draco first swore her to secrecy, issuing threats of the awfulness that would befall her if she betrayed him; she hardly batted an eye. Either she saw these as the instinctive and perfunctory gestures they were, or she simply wasn't concerned. But following this preamble, he told her everything. He had never opened up to anyone this way, nor would he have considered it. It was like a faucet had been turned on full blast and couldn't be stopped. The words just kept coming: about the snake ... about that git Potter ... then the snake again ... filthy mudbloods ... having never heard of a snake that large ... how he loved being a Slytherin and a Malfoy ... what could have caused these snake dreams ... that his favorite spell was _Serpensortia_ and he yearned to use it on Potter one day ... so why was he so afraid of a bloody snake?! He even threw in the bit about seeing Quirrell in the Forest. It was a little scary, but it was liberating too. Luna never once interrupted him or derailed the discussion by mentioning nargles; instead she was silent but attentive, leaning into their conversation and looking at him as though he were the only other person in the world.

Eventually his words trailed off as his train of thought faded into the distant horizon, leaving a plume of uncertain smoke behind. He lay back on the couch and waited for her to say something.

"I didn't expect you would be so interesting, Malfoy," she said frankly. "I knew you were popular, and proud, and that you have a one-track mind. I suppose that's why I thought you would have a rather boring life. I'm glad I was wrong."

Draco frowned in puzzlement. It wasn't exactly a compliment, but she wasn't rejecting him either, even after the rather vulgar things he'd spouted about traitors and dirty blood and pop singers.

"You want to go to Snape for a potion to stop the dreams, like Zabini said. I don't think you should."

That startled him. "And _why,_ pray, do you think I shouldn't seek relief from something that's affecting my concentration? To say nothing of my sanity!"

"Is it such a wonderful thing, to be sane? Ronald's brother Percy is quite the sanest person I ever met, and it hasn't given him a moment's peace," Luna half-walked, half-danced over to the center table and poured a glass of water, which Draco accepted with grudging appreciation. "And as for relief ... sometimes magic is a blessing, but at other times it's just the easy way out, isn't it? After my mother died a few years ago, daddy wouldn't stop using cheering charms on himself. Aunt Europa had to hide his wand. So did I, sometimes, or he may never have said a proper goodbye to mummy at all."

Draco looked at the half-empty glass and thought about that. Come to think of it, he had never seen his parents use a potion or charm to deal with inconvenient feelings, nor had they encouraged him to do so. Still ...

"It's weak we are, if we depend too much on magic. I think you are rather bright, and that your mind is trying to tell you something with these dreams. If you stop them with a potion, you're stopping yourself from learning something."

"That might work on someone like Sophie, or Granger, but unlike them I don't need to know _everything._ And this is one lesson I would just as soon skip."

"Because it frightens you."

He sniffed, avoiding her eyes. "Because it's unnecessary. What could possibly be important about a fictional oversize reptile?"

"What could possibly have been important about seeing your Dark Arts professor in the Forest?"

 _"Shhhhh!"_ he said in a heated whisper, grey eyes darting about the room. "Merlin, girl, what's wrong with you? You can't just go about _saying_ that sort of thing! Not everyone knows about it, or believes it was him. And even fewer believe the man was ever possessed by ... by—"

"But you do," Luna said, laying one of her hands very gently on his. "Don't you?"

Draco took a hard swallow. A violent shiver went through his whole body. Yes, he did believe it. His fellow Slytherins did not, or at least few were willing to come out and admit it ... but none of them had happened upon the scene of a unicorn murder. Who but the most ruthless wizard of all time commanded such devotion from his followers, or would use such terrible means to achieve his ends? Lucius Malfoy insisted the man was long dead, thanks to Potter, but Theodore Nott and his father Icarus told Draco a very different story in his pre-Hogwarts tutoring sessions: that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was still with them in some form or other, gathering strength in order to return. But therein lay a small, and by small he meant utterly gargantuan, problem: if even half the things Mr. Nott told Draco about the Dark Lord were to be believed, then catching a mere glimpse of him in any form should have been a grand experience. Draco should have felt thrilled, compelled to worship him, inspired to become a Death Eater just like his elders.

Instead, the sight had sickened him to the depths of his soul. Unicorns were kind and innocent creatures; Pansy had told him that much. To see one just lying there, bleeding silver in the moonlight as that horrible figure crouched over it and _drank_ _..._ it was enough to drive a sane person mad, and perhaps he had lost his mind that night as he tore off through the woods in panic, for he hadn't felt quite the same since.

The dreams were beginning to evoke that same blind, all-consuming fear, and his instinct was to do exactly what he did then: escape. Ignore it. Lie to himself and his friends that nothing happened. Don't think about it. Don't _think._

What else could he be expected to do?

"It's my problem," he said coldly. "And I'll decide how to deal with it."

Luna nodded and they stood up from the couch. "Very well, Malfoy. But whatever you do, don't make me use this."

She held out the "de-wrackspurting kit" in a highly threatening manner. Draco recoiled slightly, causing Luna to burst into a fit of giggles. Her laughter was a lovely sound, cacophonous and musical at the same time; he had never heard anything quite like it. He suddenly felt lighter.

He shook his head slowly, trying not to smile and gradually failing. "How is that hideous thing supposed to work, anyway?"

"One must attach it to the ear and perform a small suction spell to remove the wrackspurts, then do the same with the opposite ear. That's very important, you see, for some of them will always escape to the other side of your brain. It's also quite handy for removing earwax. The process is rather uncomfortable, but don't fret; daddy says the headaches get better in a few days."

"I'll pass."

"If you don't want me to use it, then you must stay focused, mustn't you? Or I'm afraid I shall have no choice."

He raised one pale eyebrow and folded his arms. "If that's supposed to be a threat, I'll have you know that my father owns an entire herd of crumple-horned snorkacks."

"Does he, now?"

"All of them are well trained and ready to stampede to my defence at a moment's notice."

"Then I shall have to threaten you more often," Luna said, placing her hands on her hips and smiling mischievously. "For I've always wanted to see a snorkack."

He shook his head. "It's my turn to threaten you now, if you don't mind. There's a certain Slytherin tradition that students from one year teach a little duelling practise to younger ones; seventh years teach sixth years, sixth years teach fifth years and so on. We are targeted often; it comes with the territory and we must be able to watch each others' backs outside the dungeons, just in case. This evening after dinner, the second years will be counseling the first years. Be there or I shall transfigure those radish earrings of yours into Gryffindor lions."

Luna covered her ears, though she wasn't wearing said earrings at the moment. "Oh dear. In that case, I suppose I'd better ... " Her smile grew a tad fixed, and some of the light faded from her eyes. "This evening, you said?"

Draco slapped his forehead. "Don't tell me you've got detention _again!_ For Circe's sake. What did you do this time?"

"Professor Snape didn't appreciate my laughing at the soggamumps. He became rather upset when I told him how much fun they were having in his office. Just between you and me, I think he's terribly jealous of them."

* * *

Darkness fell rapidly on Malfoy Manor these days. Even at noon the grounds were shaded by protective trees and hedges, and the many windows were so tightly shuttered that even the brightest light could not penetrate them. There were corners of this house that had never seen the sun at all. Naturally the solarium was an exception. It was here, in a beautiful climate-controlled glass dome surrounded by plants even taller than he was, that Dobby came to think.

He paced back and forth without rest, his luminous eyes fixed on the patio. The Malfoys' much-mistreated house-elf had tried everything he could think of to keep the great Harry Potter from going back to Hogwarts and nothing had worked. The young wizard's ingenuity was truly something to behold. He had never attempted harm to any human before—it was terrible, unthinkable!—but what if nothing else would suffice? Though he knew only a tiny fraction of the magical world, it was plain that dramatic and necessary changes were afoot. Even the miserable routine of work at the Manor had been disrupted by Master and Mistress' fear of a Ministry raid and Young Master's bad dreams. Many witches and wizards would be called upon to do things they had never dared attempt, and though he was but a humble house-elf with iron burns on his hands and a secret collection of dust bunnies shaped like Harry Potter, perhaps even he could make a difference.

Yes, he would have to slip away from the property and return to the school once more, risking his employment in the process. Not that this would bother him so much, had said employment not been conditional to his very existence. His kind lived to serve. They knew nothing else, desired nothing else save a livable environment to work in and maybe a little appreciation now and then. As far as those two things were concerned ... though he would be loath to admit it, would in fact be compelled to punish himself for saying so, Dobby felt he had been shafted.

He was certainly condemned to be a disgrace to house-elves everywhere, his name remembered only as a curse. For the ultimate sin of disloyalty, he deserved no less. All he hoped was that before it was over, someone would ask him: _why?_ And then he could tell them. It was the only solace he desired.

He looked up sharply as the door to the solarium was angrily thrown open.

"You have gone too far this time, Lucius!" said a woman's voice.

Urgent footsteps thudded on the stones nearby and Dobby blinked out of sight, though not out of earshot, as his masters approached. House-elf magic was an extraordinary thing.

An elegantly beautiful blonde woman stalked into the solarium. Her expensive attire was as dark as her mood, clashing noticeably with the lively yellows and greens of the plants, but she carried herself with such dignity and confidence that she seemed to belong wherever she was put. Next to her looks it was one of her greatest assets. Being a society wife put one in a variety of positions. Covering her husband's you-know-what was among the most important of those positions and often the most infuriating.

"Cissy, I can explain," the man of the house said calmly as he followed her inside. He had the same pale aristocratic features as his son, but the years had lent far more grace and subtlety to him. Like a creeping chill in the air, his presence could fill a room before the guests even knew he had arrived; then suddenly the chill became a blizzard and he was _there,_ sweeping over everyone before moving on. But unlike any force of nature he was discriminating, calculating, and political; a man not to be crossed.

Unless you were his wife, that is: Narcissa Malfoy _nee_ Black, Cissy to him and her friends, who now spun around and glared at him with flawlessly manicured fingernails digging into her palms.

"If you think I'm going to let you explain this away, you are quite mistaken," she said. Some wives nagged, others whined and still others bellowed; Mrs. Malfoy did none of these. She _presided,_ in the manner of a judge who was having a very bad day. "Too many things have been swept under the rug here for far too long. This is the absolute limit! But it's my fault, really. I should have known I couldn't trust you to make a simple shopping trip to Diagon Alley without a disaster!"

"My dear, you are overreacting."

"Am I, Lucius? Was I mistaken or did you just now intimate, over a delightful spot of tea, that you allowed a dark artefact to fall into the hands of Arthur Weasley's eleven-year-old daughter?"

Mr. Malfoy winced. "Er ... no, you are not mistaken. But if you'll permit me—"

She was permitting nothing. "Arthur Weasley! As if you haven't done enough to antagonise that oafish, sanctimonious man; you've practically dared him to raid our home as it is. He's going to have our heads for this! And what about the girl? Did you give any thought to what might happen to her? Her parents are blood traitors, so her safety doesn't matter; is that it?"

"The book itself is not harmful," Mr. Malfoy insisted. "It is a mere trifle. The Dark Lord told me that much. It was something he charmed to open the Chamber of Secrets. He never even wrote in it. I examined it thoroughly."

 _"Open the Chamber?!"_ his wife echoed with outrage.

"Cissy, the enchantment is fifty years old! It would have worn off long ago. I despised the blasted thing, Borgin didn't want it, and Weasley chose a very bad time to pick a fight with me so I made it his problem instead. In hindsight, a childish and unwise decision. What can I say?"

"If you'd known it was childish and unwise at the time, then we wouldn't be in this mess," Mrs. Malfoy said icily. "And another thing. Suppose the charm hasn't worn off. Suppose it works just as intended. What then?"

Mr. Malfoy smiled to himself. "In that unlikely event ... perhaps a few muggleborns will be reminded of their place, and Hogwarts will finally be rid of Dumbledore once and for all. The man is a menace. He was always a sentimental pro-muggle crusader, but at least during the War he could be reasoned with. Now he's virtually senile. Doddering about with his pet phoenix and his lemon drops, not even bothering to squash those ridiculous rumors about the Dark Lord possessing his Defence teacher—he's become a parody of himself. He's got to go."

"Be that as it may, slipping the diary into the girl's books is the worst thing you could have done," his wife said grimly. "The Weasleys may be fools, but not even they could fail to trace it straight back to us when it's discovered. It's a miracle they haven't found it already. Or perhaps they have, and are simply keeping it to use against us later!"

Her husband sobered a bit as the idea sank in. "I suppose that is ... possible."

"You must write to Draco. We need not tell the dear boy everything, but he may be able to find out if the girl still has the diary with her."

He was already writing the letter in his mind. "And if she does?"

"Then we shall decide what to do next. In the meantime, I trust you will dispose of the rest of our incriminating articles more discreetly."

With a promise and a kiss, Mr. Malfoy left the solarium immediately in a swirl of blond hair and dark robes. He imagined the front page of the Daily Prophet screaming _'Malfoy Keeps You-Know-Who's Diary as Fond Memento'_ and his heart dropped. Though he would never be so uncouth as to sprint to his study, every step he took was just a little bit faster than the one before.

* * *

Draco pulled his emerald green cloak tighter about his shoulders as he strode through the subterranean corridors. Though his feet followed a familiar course, his mind wandered. He shivered from nerves as well as the cold; Snape might be his godfather, but that didn't mean they had a warm and friendly relationship. No one was entirely spared his barbs, insinuations, and rebukes. Draco's preferential treatment in class had come as a welcome surprise, but he got the impression it was more for being a Slytherin—and Lucius' son—than anything else. Snape seldom visited him at home, rarely took him aside and offered advice, certainly had never offered comfort or expressed affection for him.

Would it kill the man to give him just a little bit of encouragement _outside_ the classroom? But perhaps, Draco thought, that would violate some obscure school regulation or get Snape in trouble with the Gryffindors. They always ruined everything. His father, as chairman of the Hogwarts Board of Governors, did all he could to keep them in check, but as they practically ran the entire school it seemed a losing battle. Those lions were the biggest hypocrites he'd ever seen. Show-offs, dolts, and traitors, most of them; children who preached about chivalry and fairness but had the audacity to _mock_ him for his old-fashioned beliefs, his pale skin, his fragile pride, his dependence on his family ...

Well, perhaps all those criticisms were technically accurate. But how could Draco not look up to a man who was the greatest, richest, and most fearsome wizard he'd ever personally known? To be his child was an honour, a privilege, and a burden that none of these clueless mudbloods or half-breeds could hope to comprehend!

A small part of him did accept, however reluctantly, that simply being Lucius Malfoy's son wasn't enough to make him truly great; that he had to earn good marks and forge alliances and do all those other boring things his mother encouraged. Much as he yearned to build his own personal legacy when he set off for Hogwarts, that same small part of him had also come looking for simpler pleasures like warmth and friendship. So much for that. What he got from most of his peers was fear and jealousy. Gemma Farley was like the big sister he never had but she couldn't spare a lot of time for him. Pansy, his childhood friend and possible future wife, was his most dependable classmate in first year. But she was a loaded weapon in kitten heels, the type you'd want on your side in a fight; not the type you revealed your deepest fears and insecurities to. Crabbe and Goyle were good listeners but not bright or interesting enough to engage him. Even Blaise, though amiable and sometimes kind, was a cipher who concealed himself behind an open book; he seldom revealed what was on his mind, but once Draco had overheard him whispering with Theodore about dead muggles and the Dark Lord and the Mark. Blaise had just nodded along with that same languid smile, and it gave Draco the chills.

He'd seen the Dark Mark, grown up much closer to it than he would like. It was not glorious. It looked ugly and unnatural and painful ... and it was the only thing his father possessed that he did not wish to inherit.

All this meant that he'd more or less given up on making additional friends at Hogwarts. First year was a struggle, but at least it let him know what to expect from this cursed school. Or so he thought. But then _she_ had to come along. Luna goddess-damned Lovegood, a confirmed pure-blood who couldn't fasten her school tie; a nature lover who got bored in herbology; a restless spirit who wandered the castle every night but was always in the same place when Draco woke up mornings, right beside him in the common room. Almost as if she were watching over him, protecting him.

But enough about Luna, he thought as he reluctantly pushed those warm feelings away. It wasn't as if they could really be friends, after all; his family would never take her seriously. The Lovegoods had little money or social standing, pure or no, and weak friends were impractical. He was not going to Snape's office to see her, but to pay the professor a cordial visit and request a dreamless sleep potion; end of story.

He knocked briskly on the door and, after an answering drawl, quietly entered. Snape was seated at his desk, grading parchments with an ill-tempered sneer across his sallow face. Farley was assisting him, a slightly more reassuring sight as she stood nearby studying one of the seventh-year lesson plans. She looked up curiously as Draco approached.

"Oh, it's you," Snape muttered, giving the boy no more than a glance before returning to the essays. "If this is about the Quidditch team again, I am not in the mood. I think I've done quite enough for you on that score."

"It's not that, sir," Draco said quickly. He paused, waiting for the teacher to look up at him. When Snape did not, his irritation mounted quickly. As a Malfoy he did not appreciate being ignored. He cast an exasperated look around the office and through the half-open doorway to the storage room, he saw Luna.

She was facing away from him, humming a tune she'd probably made up on the spot while she swabbed the floor with a ragged old mop. It was missing part of the handle and she had to constantly bend over to reach the floor with it. The sight of a pure-blood witch being treated like a house-elf was enough to make his blood boil.

 _Don't turn around. Don't turn around ..._

She didn't. Thank goodness.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Snape barked impatiently.

 _Now_ she turned around. Damn.

"Miss Farley and I are quite busy. Unless you are interested in sharing Miss Lovegood's detention, I shall have to insist that you tell me what you want and get out."

 _What I want is to dunk your head into one of your own cauldrons, you miserable git,_ Draco wanted to say.

There was a much better way to stick it to Snape, without even getting in trouble. It was quite embarrassing, his parents would be appalled if they ever found out, and worst of all it would get him on Snape's bad side. And he was going to do it anyway.

"You got it in one, sir," Draco announced. "That's exactly what I want."

He had the distinct pleasure of seeing Snape and Farley's faces go slack with astonishment. Draco deposited his wand on the desk and marched into storage.

"Malfoy," she greeted him as he took another mop from the wall.

"Luna," he nodded casually. "What are the soggamumps doing tonight?"

"They haven't been up to anything this time, I'm afraid. I don't blame the dear things for being tired after performing five nights in a row ... but now that you're here, I do believe they're preparing a special number in your honour. Won't you miss the duelling practise, though?"

"I talked to Pansy and Millicent and we rescheduled," Draco said smoothly. "Hanging out with housemates on the weekend is all well and good, but how often does a privileged gentleman like myself get the chance to mop floors? It was an opportunity I couldn't refuse."

She adopted the same knowing smile that he wore. "But your helping me might upset the good professor, you know, and make him quite unwilling to give you any potions in the future."

"A calculated risk. And I can always try Madam Pomfrey instead. Now, be a dear and pass me that soap bucket?"

The mops did their work, and when the clock struck nine, dirt and pretences alike had been scrubbed away. From that night on, Draco Malfoy and Luna Lovegood were friends. There are some things you can't share without ending up liking each other, and while serving detention with Severus Snape is not in fact one of them, in this case it provided the final nudge that sent them stumbling into each other's lives.

* * *

"I mean it, Ron," Potter whispered. The two of them drew closer to each other, the only Gryffindor boys still awake in the second-year dorm. "It wasn't the sort of thing you just imagine. I haven't heard a voice like that since Voldemort."

"I really wish you'd stop saying the name," Weasley moaned.

"Fear of a name—"

"Makes you more afraid of the thing itself. I know, I _know._ So this voice, what did it say again?"

Potter bit his lip. "Nothing I want to repeat, but it sounded like it was hunting. Like it wanted to kill something. Or someone."

The redhead looked fascinated, even though he was tired and his muscles ached from polishing trophies. "And you couldn't tell whether it was a man or a woman, right? You sure it wasn't that git Malfoy playing a trick on you?"

"Positive. This thing didn't even seem human."

"Wicked," Weasley exclaimed softly.

"Wicked?!" Potter echoed in dismay, sitting up straighter on the side of his bed. "Ron, this could be dangerous! Suppose there's a magical creature loose at Hogwarts that only I can hear. It might go after the students!"

"Even more wicked! I can think of a few who could use some going after," his friend chortled darkly. "Certain Slytherins in particular. Think they're so high and mighty ... anyway, if it's got you so worried, why not tell Dumbledore? Or McGonagall? Even Percy might be able to help."

"What am I going to tell them? That I'm hearing voices?"

Ron shrugged. "Well, I give up. Best advice I can give you is just to keep listening and see what happens."

Potter sighed grumpily and flopped down on his bed.

"Thanks, Ron. That makes me feel a whole lot better."

* * *

For a first issue, Frye Harper's _Slytherin Scrawl_ was an unqualified success. As Hogwarts had no official school paper, its press facilities were extremely limited and the snakes had to do all of the work themselves. Frye, Daphne Greengrass, and prefect Alexandra Sykes wrote the news and gossip articles while former seeker Terence Higgs wrote the Quidditch column. Nicolas Grimmett handled proofreading and editing after Sykes bribed him with some rare chocolate frog cards. The domestic turmoil over Frye's sorting was such that his family either could not or would not help him to print the newsletter. He had despaired for a while on Saturday, until Luna owled her father for help. Xeno Lovegood and his printer—expertly charmed from many years of producing _The Quibbler_ —had come to the rescue. The Lovegoods' beautiful northern hawk-owl Boadicea, along with several more owls lent by helpful Slytherins, flew to and from Ottery St. Catchpole all through Sunday to deliver the fresh copies to Hogwarts. Millicent and Lucian Bole carried them down in a flashy snakeskin basket just before breakfast in the Great Hall ... where they instantly created a stir in the school's oft-tranquil morning routine. The main culprit was the front-page editorial 'A View From the Ground,' which Frye had written in just two drafts with Sykes' help.

 _Cazart! What's this? Rumours of You-Know-Who? A celebrity for a Dark Arts teacher? And to top it all off, a Harper in Slytherin!_

 _Like that big rowan tree that jumped out in front of my broom at flying practise, I should have seen it coming. My life was much too quiet at home. Descended from a long line of journalists and proud Ravenclaws! A father and great-uncle who write for the_ Daily Prophet! _A chip off the old block, my parents call me when they introduce me._

 _Or they used to. The other shoe has dropped as they say. Not only does Frye Harper wear green and silver, he is proud to do so! After all we are the best house for ambition, politics, and connections, and without those, no journalist can succeed. My father would disagree, but my being in Slytherin makes a twisted kind of sense ..._

 _But enough about me. Let's talk about what doesn't make sense, starting with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's start-of-term speech last Tuesday. The venerable old wizard leaned forward over the table as if he might fall over, and few of the Slytherins I talked with could make heads or tails of what he said._

 _According to Dumbledore the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is "no longer out of bounds, and students may once again venture there without risking a most painful death." All well and good, but he did not mention why it had been out of bounds in the first place. What did they have in there that was such a big security risk? A werewolf convention? A burn ward for exploding snap games gone horribly wrong? A secret storage room for flying muggle vehicles? Since a certain pair of Gryffindors arrived at school in one of these and were barely punished, even though they damaged school property and caused a round of muggle Obliviations by the Ministry, perhaps that kind of dangerous foolishness is common here._

 _"We are proud to welcome distinguished writer and traveler Gilderoy Lockhart as our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," Dumbledore also said. Why, I thought? We all know he can write and style his hair, but if our first week of classes is anything to go by, that doesn't mean he can teach. And on the topic of experience, who has seen him doing all these great things he talks about? I would go further: who has seen him do anything tougher than pose for a camera and sign autographs?_

 _As for the meaning of Dumbledore's final words, "purloin ... burble ... lathe ... antidisestablishmentarianism," your guess is as good as mine._

 _With that out of the way, let's talk about someone who was anti-everything: Voldemort. The only certainty when reporting on him is that nothing is certain. I've talked to anonymous older students from all four houses and come away hopelessly confused. The first said he died 11 years ago in the Wizarding War and that's that. The second said he came back to life and entered Hogwarts last year but was killed again. The third had some theory about alien lizards that I can't recall. And the fourth claims that Voldemort is still alive but never entered Hogwarts at all, and will not rest until he can kill Harry Potter someday. Which is a pretty tall order, when you consider that Potter already killed him at least once without even trying and has an entire school full of wizards and witches here to protect him._

 _Madness, madness. The evil of good intentions and the virtue of bad faith. Hushed words floating up from the crowd and writhing together like so many wisps of smoke from the filthy torches in our dungeons. Dedicated, reliable Filch will clean them soon enough, but what of the rest? Who needs to point a wand and yell "stupefy" when we have rumor and innuendo to do that for us? Without an official story from the Headmaster, everyone believes whatever they choose on conflicting scraps of evidence. As we struggle through our books, no two houses or professors appear to be on the same page. This bodes ill for the kind of school-wide cooperation called for by the Sorting Hat_ — _possibly the best piece of advice we received from anyone._

 _But what would a slimy, untrustworthy first-year Slytherin know about that?_

The piece had an immediate impact. Consternation reigned at every table, even the snakes'. Some students passionately denounced the printing of Voldemort's name. Others were outraged that the rumors about him had been acknowledged at all. A third contingent, particularly strong at the lions' table, took umbrage at any criticism of Dumbledore, though the man himself took a copy and read it over breakfast with an especially lively twinkle in his eye. The Ravenclaws were displeased at Frye's opinionated first-person style. Some older snakes whispered darkly to each other about a firstie having the gall to mock the Dark Lord. Fans of Lockhart, which included most of the girls, weren't very thrilled either.

There were other students who seemed to do more thinking than speaking, however, and Hermione Granger from Gryffindor was one of these. She digested the article with rapt attention and shot a few curious glances at Frye during the meal. Crabbe and Goyle actually read it willingly, nudging each other and chuckling throughout. The Carrow twins were so eccentric and used to sharing things that they held up a single copy between them, each girl reading one side at a time.

"You're a real _gonzo,_ Frye," Blaise remarked, slipping briefly into his Italian vocabulary. "But not a bad writer. I must congratulate you."

Frye's smile was big enough to light up the room. "Thanks, Blaise! At this rate I'll have all of Hogwarts trying to hex me on sight, but that's just part of the thrill. My dad took a few days to get over my sorting, but in his last letter he told me that Slytherins love the extreme, and if I'm going to write for them I've got to be completely honest or a complete liar. I choose to be honest, come what may."

"Well, however long you survive, consider me a subscriber."

"As if you didn't have enough to read, Blaise, after bringing all your textbooks and half your mum's library," Pansy teased.

"I happen to find reading a more enjoyable pastime than playing house with Malfoy or tormenting random students," he said with a smile tugging at his lips.

"Duelling, Blaise, _duelling._ I only torment them after I win," Pansy said with a nasty little giggle. "You'd be amazed how overconfident some of those third-years are, just because they had Dark Arts before Quirrell."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Ollivander must have been mad to let you out of his shop with an aspen wand."

Pansy turned excitedly to Draco. "That reminds me! Malfoy, darling, did you know you broke my heart when you cancelled our duelling practise with the firsties? I was itching to show them a thing or two, and if Frye keeps on writing like this he should learn how to defend himself and soon ... Malfoy? Did you hear me?"

He had not. The boy was utterly absorbed in Luna, who was sitting beside him—when had that started?—and expounding in dreamy singsong on the finer points of printing and the history of the wizard press. The two of them were a perfectly calm and ordered pair in an academic sea of chaos, and she felt a momentary flash of pride at having helped bring them together. Draco knotted Luna's tie as she spoke; Pansy couldn't help noticing that he was still doing it for her, which was not like him at all. Nor was it like him to sleep in the common room every night; she had seen him there more than once after lights out. Something was different about her childhood friend, that much was clear. She resolved to find out more this week.

There was an uncomfortable moment as she noticed Theodore, from behind his copy of the newsletter, staring at Frye with nothing but the utmost contempt.

"Nott," she said sharply.

He quickly replaced his mask of indifference. "Hm?"

"Stop killing Frye with your eyes and pass the salt."

Theodore obliged, but he tightened his grip on the shaker as she tried to take it.

"Just remember whose side you're on, Pansy," he said.


	6. Weasel Words

_A/N: I decided to go this way with Draco because of Harry's detention with him in Philosopher's Stone. Harry and Draco walk through the Forest for an hour, and together they discover the dark figure drinking unicorn blood. Well, by the end of the story when the truth about Quirrell got out, Draco must have realized the figure he ran screaming in terror from was Quirrell, and maybe the man was hosting Voldemort at the time. (As Dumbledore said himself: "naturally, the whole school knows.")_

 _This moment should have been very important to Draco, for good or ill, but I don't remember it ever being mentioned again. Draco never reflects on it, Harry never brings it up with him, and when it's all said and done none of the characters involved (except maybe Harry) really sit down and say, "wow, Voldemort might be alive and if so, he was in our school for a year!"_ _Not the professors, not the students, not the Ministry, not the newspapers._ _Rowling just moves on to a different plot line as if the whole Quirrellmort thing didn't really happen. I've never been able to make sense of this in canon, so I'm giving it a shot in fan fiction instead. :)_

 _Luna's "emergency de-wrackspurting kit" from Chapter V is inspired by a very funny Luna fic called 'Playing Cupid' by Arpad Hrunta._

* * *

guest#2 (ch. 5): _The "all Slytherins aren't bad" path is just what I was going for. Thanks! I've seen them portrayed as misunderstood good guys and sociopathic monsters often enough that I was compelled to go somewhere in between. Canon (i.e. Harry) sees them as more or less on the same page, but I think it's more realistic to have them disagree. Draco, Selwyn, and Sophie Roper all have rather different ideas about what it means to be a Slytherin ... whereas Luna's Slytherin-ness lies in the fact that you never know what she's thinking unless she decides to tell you._

duj: _I'm flattered! Thank you for your comment. Pansy is betrothed to Draco, and even though that's not a binding arrangement in my headcanon it is sure to play a role in her thinking. But they are primarily friends, plus she's twelve and enjoying her childhood, so she's in no hurry to grow up._

Sabina6s: _Thanks. This is turning out to be an enjoyable project! The feedback definitely helps._

Bartholomew Black: _Glad you're enjoying this! You'll see more articles by Frye and other Slytherins in the future, to reflect the house's mentality as the story develops._

Sunset Whispers: _Your whispers are always helpful. :) Lucius certainly slipped up there. I think the sheer embarrassment of getting into a fist fight with Mr. Weasley had something to do with his decision (though you probably noticed he didn't mention_ that _part to his wife). The man does not deal well with humiliation or fear, as you will see shortly ..._

* * *

 **VI: Weasel Words**

Draco was fortunate that in the commotion caused by the newsletter few really noticed Michtam, his father's great grey owl, tumble through the window of the Great Hall in a panic-stricken flurry and drop a rumpled letter on the boy's head, then rudely snatch up a whole slice of French toast from his plate which wobbled off the edge of the table and smashed on the floor. Naturally Luna noticed, as did Blaise and Pansy; poor Morag Ollivander couldn't help noticing when the bird nearly knocked her off her chair while attempting to right itself and hold on to the toast at the same time, leaving her with a face full of maple syrup. Finally Michtam departed, leaving Draco to rant furiously over his barren plate: "I _never_ in my life ... perfectly good French toast ... rudest delivery I've _ever_ witnessed ... my father will hear about this!"

"Since that was your father's owl," Blaise said, exchanging grins with Pansy, "Yes, I am quite sure he will."

Cyril Meakin cleaned up Morag with a gentle cleaning charm while Luna assured a still sputtering Draco that life was too short to cry over stolen toast ("the nargles taught me that much") and kindly gave him a new piece. Nevertheless, he was still grumbling ten minutes later as they walked back to the common room for their weekly meeting with Snape. He retreated to one of the darker corners with Luna close behind and ripped open the letter. He read it quickly, confusion gradually twisting his features until he expelled it with a sigh.

"As if I didn't have enough to worry about this week," Draco said. "I think my father's off his nut."

Knowing better than to read personal correspondence aloud in the common room, he passed her the letter.

 _Dear Son,_

 _FOR MERLIN'S SAKE PLEASE HELP ME_

 _to understand how you are doing lately. Yes, that's what I meant. I am writing solely to inquire as to your well-being and for no other reason. Therefore, do not be alarmed. Despite my desperate scribbling and the crumpled condition of this parchment, you may rest assured there is absolutely no life-or-death emergency here at the Manor from which only you can save us. Banish the very thought from your mind! I don't know where you get these ideas. My worries extend no further than being down to my last piece of stationery and misplacing my error-proof quill._

 _How is school? I trust you are on your way to earning better marks than you had last year. Have to do down those mudbloods, you know._

 _Allow me to ask you an utterly random, innocent, and hypothetical question. You remember the Weasleys, don't you? Pure-bloods in name only, red hair, more freckles than brains, lobbying the Minister of Magic to raid our home, et al? We happened to run into them in Diagon Alley. I'm sure you recall their daughter; what was her name? Jenny, Chelsea, something like that. I hear that the latest trend among blood traitors is to write in old, dog-eared muggle diaries with black leatherbound covers and toddlers' teeth marks upon them. While I'm certain this is nonsense, should you happen to see young Jilly Weasley in possession of such a diary, please notify your mother and I as soon as humanly or magically possible. If it is not too much trouble, of course. Sweets of any kind you desire shall be forthcoming._

 _With love,_

 _Your Father_

Draco watched Luna's face for a reaction, but she remained quite serious and allowed herself only a curious tilt of the head.

"How interesting," she remarked as she gave back the letter.

"That's one way of putting it. He must have had it out with mother; nothing else makes him overreact like this. Between classes and practising for our first Quidditch game I've got enough to deal with this year. Now I'm supposed to stalk the Weasley girl to find out if she writes in a diary? Forget it. I have enough sweets from home anyway."

"You won't have to stalk her to find that out, Malfoy."

He looked inquiring. "Oh?"

"Because I've already seen Ginny writing in a diary like that," said Luna. "She brings it out during class when she thinks no one is looking."

Draco half-smiled. "Then congratulations, miss; you've just won a week's supply of any confection you may desire from the Malfoy kitchens. What's your fancy?"

Now she smiled. "Sugar candy, if you please. In all the colors of the rainbow."

"Consider it done."

"When I said the letter was interesting," Luna added suddenly. "I did not mean your father's tone. I meant it was interesting that he described the diary exactly. As though he'd seen it before."

Draco scowled. "Did he? Well, now that you mention it—"

"The bat is loose, ickle snakies," Marcus Flint said brusquely as he passed by them.

"Damn. That means Snape is on his way. Hurry!"

They allowed themselves to be swept along in the rush of students gathering in the center of the room. Draco caught a glimpse of little Morag Ollivander speaking urgently to Gemma Farley as she pointed in his direction. What could she be complaining about? The syrup incident at breakfast? Surely he couldn't be held responsible for something his father's owl had done. Or maybe she was pointing at Luna, right next to him. Draco searched his memory for any signs of dissension between Luna and Morag and came up empty.

After a moment Gemma ended the conversation with a nod and a smirk and Morag thanked her, still irritated but apparently satisfied with the outcome. Gemma glanced at her watch and stepped forward.

"Attention, everyone. Oi, I said _everyone._ That includes you, Montague," she pointed towards the back of the room where the chaser was still horsing around with some of his Quidditch teammates. The noise soon stopped. "That's better. Now Professor Snape will be here in just a few minutes, so listen up. Here in Slytherin, we look out for each other; not like the other houses that were at each other's throats arguing over our new house newsletter, so keep that in mind. If I hear any two Slytherins bickering about that in public, I'll simply hex the both of you and leave you for Filch. One more order of business: because we protect each other here, it's also our job to do what we can if we notice a snake being unfairly targeted—no matter who's doing the targeting. Therefore ... everyone take out your wand."

The snakes obeyed with varying degrees of eagerness. Pansy's wand was in her hand before Farley even finished the sentence; Cassius Warrington fumbled with his robes for about thirty seconds before he managed the task.

"Good. Now, everyone stick it behind your left ear. That's left, as in _left,_ which is the opposite of your _right,_ Goyle ... very good. Now, everyone keep it there and wait."

Morag looked back at Luna and winked.

By now some of the students had figured out what Farley was doing, and excited murmurs drifted through the crowd as they watched for the doors to burst open. They did not have long to wait. Their leader was fast approaching the room with his jaw set, his fists clenched, and his mind racing.

It may have been cruel. It may have been unprofessional. But there was something about punishing his students that Snape found inherently appealing. He wasn't sure why. Though he spent much of his time in solitude, introspection was not his forte—a flaw shared by many of those who at one time or another had been taken under the Dark Lord's wing. Lost souls were easier to control. Objectively, he understood how he had been used. Emotionally, part of him still cried out for that leadership; that ruthless, bloody certainty. Certainty that he'd given up for bittersweet memories and a pair of beautiful eyes.

Snape was too far gone in those same memories, and the self-pity they inevitably dredged up, to even feel his feet upon the floor. He had not slept well and was really in no condition to hold a weekly Head of House meeting, much less teach. The Malfoy boy's interference last night had enraged him more than he could express. The sobering thought of what Lucius and Narcissa would say if they found out their son had served detention in _his dungeon,_ willingly or no _,_ was enough to take all the pleasure out of detaining Lovegood.

Not that she'd allowed him much of that in the first place.

As he attempted to console himself with the thought that things couldn't get much worse, he burst into the common room and went rigid. Helplessness crashed over him in a numbing wave. Everywhere he looked, wands behind ears.

His pitch dark eyes narrowed at the sight of Malfoy and Lovegood side by side again. Some way or other, it was their fault. _They_ had done this: taken away his excuse and threatened to wrench his own house from his grasp, knowing he couldn't punish them all. This was what he got for ever having hope, for attempting to do the "right" thing: an interminable scamper through Dumbledore's maze, and all the true friends he had—Lily, Pandora, and Lucius—recreated as adversaries and thrown back in his face. What a grand cosmic joke. But it was just as well that, having berated himself time and again for failures both real and imagined, he began to understand his limitations. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but the effect was strangely liberating.

The students were waiting. He really should say something. Nothing too harsh; that would be a mistake. He knew his own people very well, and the more he tightened his grip on them the more slippery and elusive they would become. A gentle embrace would be the most effective way to quell this nascent rebellion.

"Well played, my young friends," he said with uncharacteristic humor, and relished the surprise on their faces. "One week ago, I reminded you all that our house takes care of its own. It is ... _refreshing_ to see that this lesson did not fall on deaf ears."

Farley's posture relaxed slightly, and he detected relief in the youngers Slytherins as well. Others were too disciplined to show any reaction at all.

"We currently lead the other three houses in points scored. However, I shall not congratulate you yet. A strong start and a strong year are two very different things. Our newsletter, while most insightful, has not been well received by many students in other houses—nor, I suspect, by the headmaster and his inner circle. Be on your guard. The second-to-first-year duelling drills have not been held yet; second-years, I encourage you to remedy this oversight soon. That will be all."

He turned on his heel and left, wishing the day were already over. For once it seemed he would have an evening free, and he was looking forward to a stiff drink.

* * *

 _"Accio_ necklace!"

Hestia Carrow's wand shook in her hand as she waited in vain for a result. The butterbeer cork necklace never moved from its place on the footstool just fifteen feet away. She exhaled in frustration and hung her head, allowing a curtain of lank brown hair to fall over her face. It was her third failed attempt.

"That was better, but you have to want it," Pansy said. She was obviously impatient, but her manner softened considerably when dealing with younger students. "It's all about intent."

"What would I want Luna's cork necklace for anyway?" the twin grumbled.

Luna never turned down a chance to educate her classmates on exotic magical fauna. "Oh, that's simple. My father explained all about them in the fourth issue of _The Quibbler,_ but basically ... "

"Shut up," Theodore said grumpily. This drew offended glares from several of his classmates, a pale blond in particular. "We don't have time for that rubbish now."

"Wait, I remember ... nargles, right?" asked Hestia. "But what does that mean to me? I've never seen a nargle!"

Draco smirked, leaning back against the wall of the trophy room as though he expected to be there a while. "That's the idea. As Luna was about to explain, they're invisible sprites that pinch your belongings when you aren't looking."

The firsties turned to stare at him, as did all his classmates in second year.

"What?" he snapped, his cheeks going pink.

"Nothing, Malfoy," Blaise snickered.

"Just because some things aren't there to be seen," Draco went on, returning his attention to Hestia, "Doesn't mean they aren't there at all. How much did your parents pay for those shoes of yours, Hestia?"

The girl shrugged. "I don't remember. We bought them at Twillfit and Tattings."

"Probably a great deal of money, then. It'd be a shame if the nargles were to steal them, just like they did mine. Then you'd have to owl-order a new pair."

Hestia began to look nervous. "You're not kidding, are you? That ... that was why you had no shoes on at the start-of-term banquet?"

Draco nodded as torchlight flickered dramatically over his pointed face. "I didn't believe in them before either. But they're everywhere, Hestia. Watching you. Just waiting for you to leave one of your belongings unattended, and ... _swish!"_ He made a sudden grabbing motion with his hand. "Gone. And the only thing that can ward them off is butterbeer, or the cork from a bottle of it."

"It's true, Hestia. I was there the last time it happened," Pansy said, playing along. "So if you don't successfully _accio_ that necklace tonight, I'm afraid those lovely violet shoes of yours may disappear by morning."

"I'm quite sure they will," Draco grinned. "And we've heard how upset your father gets when you girls lose your things."

Flora plucked at Sophie Roper's sleeve and said something in her ear that no one else could make out. The more reserved twin had never uttered a word in conversation since arriving at Hogwarts; on the occasion that she had something to say, she would whisper it to her sister or one of the other girls and have them pass it along. Sophie nodded and turned to Hestia. "That's right, Hes. Remember when Flora lost her shoes a few years ago? Your father was so upset he made her wear her old ones that didn't fit anymore, and she had to go about with aching feet for a month ... "

 _"Accio_ necklace!" Hestia cried fearfully as she raised her wand. Her pronunciation was less than perfect, but this time the bauble fairly jumped off the stool and sailed across the trophy room into her free hand.

The other Slytherins all whisper-shouted their congratulations save Flora, who simply embraced her. Caretaker Filch had been so flattered by Frye's description of him in the _Scrawl_ ("can't tell you how touched I was ... first time a student's ever appreciated me ... not like Potter and those Gryffindors, they're the worst," he blubbered) that he had gone to clean the torches in the dungeons that very day, where they struck a bargain with him: he would allow them to use this room for their practise until curfew, so long as they kept the noise to a minimum. There were advantages to getting on the bitter disciplinarian's good side, and Draco was glad for the privacy. He had turned down the idea of doing this in the common room. Some of the older Slytherins still looked at Luna or Frye with a nasty glint in their eyes. Not that he expected trouble within his own house; he just didn't like the idea of them knowing exactly _what_ sort of spells and strategies the ickle ones were being taught, or what they were capable of.

Better to let them wonder, if it ever came to that.

"Blimey, Carrow!" Millicent, while shaking her head at the notion of nargles, was still astonished. She and Pansy had assigned the difficult spell on a lark without expecting any of the first-years to actually succeed at it, and until now none had.

Draco realised his mouth was hanging open, and quickly shut it. Even he couldn't summon objects yet. Hestia's talent for charms was beyond impressive; that or she was scared stiff of her father. Perhaps it was both. His parents had invited the Carrows to their manor only a few times when he was very young. He couldn't remember much about them, but he knew the family was not particularly genteel or well-liked even by other pure-bloods.

"Bloody good show, Hestia," Pansy said approvingly. "The summoning charm is often a headache for anyone below fourth year. A lower success rate than the revulsion jinx, but very useful for disarming weaker wizards."

"And muggle axe murderers, should you happen to run into any," added Blaise. "Frye, I imagine you see them all the time, living with one foot in their world like you do."

"Now if you're all ready," Pansy said over Frye's guffaw, "We'll get back to the basics. Next up is the tickling charm. Sounds silly, yes? I hear Morag giggling back there. Well, if you think she's laughing now, just wait."

She raised her wand. Morag gasped and tried to hide behind Theodore, who carelessly shoved her away.

 _"Rictumsempra!"_ Pansy declared expertly. Morag's body jerked as though she were being electrocuted, and she shrieked with laughter. Within seconds she was rolling on the floor, completely helpless. Fortunately Pansy hadn't put much intensity into the spell, and the worst of it wore off quickly. "A witch who can't speak or concentrate can't hex your eyes out. Needs some willpower, but it's a nice little diversion when done right. Go for it, firsties. And just to keep things interesting, Theodore here will be the victim."

Theodore shuffled to the center of the room with a sneer of displeasure. His flexible and stringy build made him difficult to hit. Hestia made multiple attempts, but the spell never seemed to make it out of her wand whole. Flora managed once, but her casting was slow and Theodore easily dodged. Morag soon got the hang of it and connected after several tries, drawing a few seconds' worth of intense giggling from the second-year. Pansy then called the last of the girls, and Luna gamely stepped forward with a low bow. Her peaceful expression never wavered as she bounced and rocked slowly on the balls of her feet. Draco stopped leaning on the wall and came closer for a better look.

"Do take a moment to focus for once, won't you?" Theodore said derisively. "And remember to—"

Luna's left hand was a blur as she ripped her wand from behind her ear and fired. Her pronunciation was firm and on point, almost a formality as the strong silver beam lanced toward her target. Theodore was unprepared for her speed or southpaw delivery. Luna must have anticipated his habit of dodging to the right, and she connected squarely with his left arm. The stringy bookworm howled with convulsive laughter and staggered right into Crabbe, who struggled to hold him still as the other firsties squealed with joy. Draco, glowing with something approaching pride, had to restrain himself from joining in. The charm took about thirty seconds to wear off but finally Theodore tore himself away from Crabbe, quivering with rage.

"Daddy's magazine," Luna told him in the same steely voice, "is not rubbish."

* * *

The cold, disembodied voice rang harshly off the walls of the prefects' bath. _"So. What did you think of seeing her for the first time?"_

Selwyn smiled blissfully into the mirror shard. "I ... I can't describe it. She was so beautiful. I thought she would be ugly, but she wasn't. I could see her pride, her grace, in each and every movement."

 _"There is an undeniable rightness about her, isn't there? As much as there can be in any nonhuman creature. Honestly I would just as soon kill the rest of them and have done with it."_

"Yes! I wanted to show you, but I had to stay hidden and there was no time; she went by so fast. But I got a good look. If only the hunt had been successful!" the young man's handsome face contorted into a pained grimace. "How many more nights must we endure this foul scourge? Why were we forced to wait so long, to resort to such means?!"

 _"You know the answer to that as well as I do, fool that you are: because the Dark Lord himself is not yet able to do the work, and our new generation are a rabble of craven, pampered children who disgrace the name of Salazar."_

Selwyn stilled as he contemplated the words. The shaving razor hung motionless in his other hand.

The mirror. Not the special one in his hand, the one on the wall. It was dirty. The last prefect had neglected to clean it off.

"Filth," he spat. His voice rose steadily as he continued, trembling with passion. "Everywhere I look, filth. Even the pure ones are unclean now. What has our world come to when we are forced to watch the whole of Slytherin house defend a dissident _freak_ who ... oh, sir, how quickly I could remove such little blemishes upon our legacy. Now, before they fester! If you would only allow me to join the hunt, to hasten the downfall of those who do not see—"

The voice sounded bored. _"I tire of your ravings, Selwyn. Pure blood is not to be spilled lightly. Only those who actively oppose us need be sacrificed, and besides, I wouldn't trust you to swat a fly properly. Watch. Wait. Fulfill your duties as a prefect. If you prove yourself capable, then we shall see about doing a little ... housecleaning."_

* * *

The next few days were distinguished by a series of unusual and unmistakably Slytherin letters. They were among the strangest that Draco and his father had ever exchanged, but at least they gave him something to think about besides his nightmares.

 _Dear Father,_

 _I hope this letter finds you well. At any rate I am sure Alaric will not capsize your breakfast while delivering it, as Michtam did mine. I never saw the old boy so flustered in all my life._

 _Striving as I do to be a model pure-blood son, I will not ask what on earth is going on with you and mother, and I understand if you think it better that I don't know the details. But please bear in mind that I had to reach well outside my typical circle of "proper" pure-blood allies to obtain the information you requested, at no small risk to myself. I shall have to take your word for what blood traitors are doing with their spare time these days, but following extensive reconnaissance I have determined that Ginny Weasley (that's G-I-N-N-Y) possesses exactly the sort of "hypothetical" diary that you, most intuitively, described down to the last detail._

 _Though I have not seen her pathetic scribblings, nor would I get close enough to her to read them, you may rest assured that she keeps it with her and covertly writes in it at every spare moment. ("Covertly" by Gryffindor standards, that is, meaning that Slytherins still in the womb could probably suss out what she is doing.)_

 _As our family's purity is matched only by its generosity, I wish to share the reward you promised with my most trusted source, who will remain anonymous unless or until circumstances dictate otherwise. We would appreciate a package of multicoloured and multiflavoured sugar candy as compensation for our efforts._

 _Love, y_ _our Golden Snitch-seeking and academically improving son,_

 _Draco_

—

 _Dear Son,_

 _I commend you for being so attentive to your father and mother's needs as to even bother replying to my clearly offhand and trivial last missive. Do accept my apology for our family owl's over-enthusiasm. Though I'm sure all the inconsequential details of this matter would bore you to no end, suffice it to say that the nature of my next request has nothing to do with salvaging what remains of our family's reputation, and everything to do with the good of wizardry as we know it._

 _I am sure you will agree that treacherous riffraff like the Weasleys ought to concern themselves first and foremost with justifying their existence to the rest of pure-blood society, rather than occupying their time with frivolous pursuits such as diaries. Therefore, it is imperative that you acquire this diary by any means necessary and mail it back to us._

 _Naturally I would never make such an unusual request of my own volition. Your mother, however, has made it frightfully clear to me that she would derive great amusement from reading the girl's shabby little secrets. I cannot imagine why but then, who_ can _fathom the minds of women? They are as impractical as they are inscrutable. Run from them, son. Die alone and afraid._

 _I jest, of course. Marry the sanest one you can find, produce a Malfoy heir and_ then _die afraid. Should you succeed in obtaining the diary, I shall allow you your pick of any of my remaining curios and trinkets from my younger and more adventurous days when we see you again over holiday break._

 _Love, your long-suffering_

 _Father_

—

 _Dear Father,_

 _Though I would like to think that I inherited some small measure of your and mother's cleverness and imagination, I must admit that even I was foxed by your latest letter. While your purposes are to me as murky as the depths of the Black Lake beyond my dorm room windows, and I will insist on knowing what in Salazar's name is going on at some later date, for now I shall do my duty as your child and obey you._

 _My indispensable anonymous source thanks you for the sugar candy. He or she claims that it even matches his or her outfit (as in, every single colour). We will be working closely together on this project. I promise to inform you once we have made substantial progress or been hung upside down in Professor McGonagall's office, whichever comes first._

 _For the benefit of any school or government authorities who may someday be reading this letter: I plead ignorance, insanity, or the threat of parental abuse in carrying out this plan, depending on which defence is recommended by my esteemed counsel._

 _Love, your saintly and innocent son,_

 _Draco_

—

Astronomy class was recognised as a necessary exception to curfew. Professor Aurora Sinistra, herself a Slytherin, treated all of her students fairly and was highly influential in the teachers' lounge; several injustices against their house had been prevented simply by her speaking to the aforementioned Minerva McGonagall "woman-to-woman." The course itself was interesting enough to Draco, who never tired of locating the constellation he was named for, but it was fascinating to Luna. Though she was bored and restless in herbology and defence, merely there in transfigurations and flying lessons, and fairly skilled at charms and potions, the tower saw the young night owl in her element. Within a week she had been allowed access to some of the professor's private telescopes, using them to view everything from the most distant stars to the grounds of Hogwarts. She earned more points for Slytherin in this class than anyone in her year, and was given to long conversations with Sinistra afterwards.

All of which meant that, while the tower was an ideal place for post-curfew encounters between students, Draco had ample time to scheme as he hid outside the door to the observatory. Though he derived a great deal of amusement from his father's obviously specious and absurd reasoning, the man must know something about the Weasley girl's diary that no one else did—something troubling, or he wouldn't have pressed his own son into service as an amateur thief. He'd been tempted to disregard the letter and hope the situation would blow over. On the other hand, if this truly was a crisis that his parents would be grateful to have resolved ... it would be nice to take all the credit for himself and get them off his back for a while. Even better was the prospect of owning one of his father's remaining artifacts. But for some strange reason he was compelled to share the credit, and the reward, with Luna.

Of course he had no emotional attachment to the girl whatsoever; perish the thought! His motivations were eminently practical. It went without saying that his parents would discourage the friendship when they eventually found out about it. Between their strangeness, their vague political affiliations, and their lack of financial or social standing, the Lovegoods were not a family his parents would be particularly willing to associate with—unless they owed them a great favor. And with the spectre of a Ministry raid looming ... if Draco chose the opportune moment to reveal Luna as his mysterious source, and presented the Lovegoods as potential mediators between the Malfoys and the Weasleys, an alliance would seem not just obligatory but downright enticing.

A delighted smile appeared on his face as he considered the possibilities. Still, he shouldn't get ahead of himself. While he had asked Luna to meet him here, not trusting the common room (even after midnight) for this purpose, he had yet to broach the subject with her. How did one actually go about stealing a diary? He knew that some pure-bloods occasionally shoplifted just for a thrill, but that didn't help him much. This was one pursuit in which his distinctive presence was _not_ an asset.

Furthermore, how did one ask a friend to help them steal a diary? Surely Luna would never go along with such a plan if he asked her straight out. But then, it was all in how he phrased the question, wasn't it? If he were to request the services of some fantastic "beasties" ... anything might be possible.

"Hullo, Draco."

"Aaagh!" he jumped a foot in the air. A pair of telltale silver eyes were inches away from his own.

"I do apologise if I startled you. You appeared so distracted I thought it best to check you for wrackspurts. Of course no one can do a full sweep without a pair of Spectrespecs, and my father is working on those ... but in the meantime, I usually know what to look for."

He cleared his throat. "Er ... quite. Well, funny you should mention magical creatures! I never thought I'd say this, and it may be highly unorthdox. But you see ... " He pulled her gently behind the statue of famed Ethiopian astronomer and ICW member Babajide Akingbade. "I require the help of the nargles."

"The nargles, you say," Luna replied, finally lowering her voice only when he put a finger to his lips. "Now that is unusual. I rather thought you wanted nothing to do with those tricky pixies, after our journey on the Hogwarts Express."

"I didn't then, but I think they're beginning to grow on me."

"Oh, they don't grow on people, Malfoy," Luna said matter-of-factly. "Though they are known to nest in mistletoe, and if you're made of mistletoe you're hiding it remarkably well. I haven't noticed anyone kissing under you unless you count prefects Selwyn and Farley, who were kissing by the Black Lake last Wednesday evening while you were walking above them on the second floor. But I think that was just a coincidence."

"How did you know I was ... oh, never mind. The point is, I need something filched and only y—I mean, only _they_ can help me." He flashed a roguish, meaningful smile at Luna ... on whose solemn features it had no discernible effect.

A long pause.

"I'm afraid it is not in the nature of nargles to be helpful. That's one reason why they're so misunderstood. Another reason is that they don't trust humans at all," Luna went on. Draco had the feeling she could see right into his brain, piercing through all of his petty schemes and beholding the spoiled little monster within. "It's reluctant they are, to get close, and one can hardly blame them. If most of the people you'd met in your life were impatient and cruel and called you a nuisance, you'd keep your distance, wouldn't you?"

Hope flickered within him. Did she mean ... ?

"Yes, I suppose I would," he said nonchalantly.

"And supposing after that, you met a human you thought was your friend, and it turned out all he wanted was for you to help him filch something. Chances are that would be the last straw, now wouldn't it?"

Draco turned paler than usual. This conversation was not taking the direction he planned on. "Er ... perhaps?"

"What could you do but become invisible and leave the human world behind," Luna said softly. "With your heart, and your trust, broken forever?"

His stomach turned. _Oh Merlin, stop looking at me. Don't ... damn it, it's no use. I can't do that to her._

"Well, when you put it that way, Luna ... what do you say we just leave it alone? You don't have to do that for me, really. Forget I ever suggested it," Draco sputtered haplessly. He kept his eyes on the floor, afraid to even look at her now, hoping against hope that he hadn't gone too far and lost her for good.

"Oh, but I was talking about the nargles, Malfoy." She tilted her head ever so slowly, and then something queer happened. She tilted her head back the other way, and he saw a gleam in her eyes then that hadn't been present since the day they met. "But if you were to ask _me_ —why, I know you're my friend, and I'd be glad to help you steal something."

Draco gaped at her. "But I ... you... you mean ... "

A wicked little smile crawled up one side of Luna's mouth.

"That wasn't nice," he croaked feebly.

She giggled and took him by the hand. Before he knew it she was racing quietly down the tower stairs while he struggled to keep up, gasping out the details on the way.

* * *

 _Tom? Are you there?_

 **Yes, Ginny. I am always here for you.**

 _Thank you. I'm glad you are. I haven't been feeling so well since I came to Hogwarts. I'm so glad I can be with Harry and Luna and my brothers, but something just doesn't seem right. Do you know what I mean?_

 **I often felt the same when I attended Hogwarts. I worried that there might be too many things in my way, that my goals would never be met. My classmates used to tell me the same thing. But I proved them wrong. I proved them all wrong. One day, you'll do the same thing.**

 _That's wonderful! I really hope you're right. I would love to show everybody that I'm not just 'the Weasley girl.' That I have my own thoughts and my own dreams, and I don't need my family to tell me what they should be! I just wish I could concentrate more in class. I think I get tired more easily than the other students in my year. And Ron says that Harry heard something strange. Like this awful voice last Sunday night, saying it wanted to kill something._

She watched her writing disappear with a wince; Ginny never quite got used to seeing that. For a long moment she crouched under her sheets with bated breath, maintaining a weak _lumos_ spell as she waited for Tom to answer.

 **From what you've told me of Harry, it seems he's always seeing or hearing something strange.**

She smiled. _Maybe,_ she wrote back.

 **I wouldn't worry too much about it. Little things like that aren't very important. Concentration is everything. Some people in life are there to guide you, to be your friend, to help you become stronger. Everyone else is just in the way. Once you've sorted out who's who, your life becomes far more simple. And then you, Ginny Weasley, will be powerful enough to have everything you ever dreamed of.**

Ginny's heart swelled with confidence. She felt much better now.

 _I want that so badly. All my life people have been babying me, telling me what to do._

 **Tyrants.**

 _Telling me they know what's good for me._

 **Liars.**

 _I never want to feel small and weak again._

 **You won't, Ginny. When the right time comes, I promise: you won't.**


	7. Among Thieves

_A/N: It took me several days to decide just how the plot was going to unfold, but this chapter is finally done. Several changes from canon are afoot and I think you're going to like them!_

* * *

Sunset Whispers: _I'm enjoying the development of Luna and Draco's friendship. I think her devotion to him is genuine, but being close to him is also a practical decision. If you could get on the good side of the Malfoys without becoming a dark witch yourself, you'd take that opportunity, wouldn't you? I'm not saying this is all a Machiavellian plot by Luna, but she certainly knows how to choose her friends._

Bartholomew Black: _I liked writing Chapter 6 as much as you liked reading it, even though it didn't advance the plot very much. This one will! Time passes, relationships solidify, the relevance of Draco's nightmares will become clearer, we will finally meet Luna's father, and as for Lucius ... well, he'll still be terrified, but he brings a lot of this stuff on himself. Let's see if Draco can pull his butt out of the fire!_

guest#3 (ch. 6): _Thank you so much. For an anonymous reviewer you gave great feedback. I imagine that in Slytherin you have to learn fast, or better yet, think ahead. I wonder just how far ahead Luna was thinking on the day she met Draco. ;)_

* * *

 **VII: Among Thieves**

Draco's friendship with Luna did not go unnoticed in his house. Pansy and Blaise thought it was a riot and supported them wholeheartedly while Theodore despised Luna and drifted further away as the days went on; his Quidditch teammates welcomed her with open arms while Daphne and Sophie were put off by her idiosyncrasies; Gemma was encouraging while Selwyn was cold and seemingly indifferent. Other boys teased him at first about his "girlfriend" but he simply ignored them or threatened them with the nargles, which worked surprisingly well. The disappearance of his shoes, Perry Derrick's lucky green socks, and Bridget Holness' stash of cauldron cakes had many of his housemates looking over their shoulders. The Carrows and some of the other girls took to wearing enchanted cork necklaces beneath their robes, generously made by Luna—for a fee, of course. Draco suspected the girl was the cause of the very problem she was charging them money to solve, but she would never admit it and he wasn't bothered enough to force the issue. If anything he was proud of her ingenuity; it was the reason he'd approached her about stealing Ginny Weasley's diary.

Ahh, the diary. His plan seemed so simple at first, but two unexpected complications delayed any action on his part, requiring a series of excuses to be fed to his increasingly anxious father.

The first was Luna's lack of enthusiasm. Apparently she was closer with Ginny than Draco thought. When he revealed that her childhood friend's most cherished possession was their quarry, she had a sudden case of the wrackspurts and stopped paying attention to him. He continued to broach the subject now and again, when they had to run off some Gryffindors who were hexing Frye or when she woke him from one of his more horrible nightmares. She responded with a sudden change of subject or a cold stare. She stonewalled him in this manner for a week, changing her mind only when Draco squeezed enough information out of Lucius to infer that this book was potentially dangerous.

The second complication stemmed from Ginny being practically _Epoximised_ to the dratted thing. It never left her side, as Luna learned through the grapevine; requests for information originated with Draco and were carefully passed on to her, then to Frye, then his friend Colin Creevey and finally nosy little Vicky Frobisher, who gossiped as naturally as she breathed and was therefore a valuable source. Ginny hid the thing beneath her robes all day long, bringing it out only in her dorm room or during a lull in class. As Luna discovered when she sat behind Ginny in Defence, her handwriting was small and gnarled like barbed wire, making it difficult to read from any distance. It didn't help that she turned the pages so rapidly, or ... in Luna's words the writing simply "went blanky-bye" but that was ridiculous, Draco thought. So was her insistence that Ginny was seeing something invisible to everyone else, when she looked at that blank page and her coarse Weasley face lit up as though she'd just received a Christmas present. (Assuming the Weasleys could even afford to buy their children Christmas presents. Draco took them for incurable re-gifters.)

"I have never known Ginny to spend so much time writing," Luna told him once. "It's practising spells she loves, and flying in her spare time. It's plain that something about this book has changed her. The other day in the corridor, I spied her hugging it to her chest as if it were a baby."

She and Draco waited in vain for a chance to snatch Ginny's "baby" from its cradle. September faded into October and a fearful chill descended on the campus. Heavy rain buffeted the castle for days. Luna's connections led to her being largely accepted by her housemates, and while Snape still disliked her he no longer handed down superfluous punishments. Draco and Millicent braved their Quidditch practises through bone-chilling wind and fields of mud, honing their teamwork and timing even as they cursed the rotten weather. Fortunately all the Slytherins were well versed in warming charms, and the dungeons were warded to keep out rising damp. Colds were going around; Blaise was hit especially hard, and as he preferred natural healing he stayed bedridden and hoarse for days. Regular visits from Theodore and Pansy seemed to cheer him, as did the newest issue of _The Quibbler,_ which reported a minor meteorite impact near the island of Azkaban and concluded that the prison was now overrun with "moon frogs."

It was around this time that fate took a hand. Gemma, unlike her fellow prefects, was never too busy to spend time with younger students. She even took steps to groom those she saw as potential successors. Draco was thrilled when she approached him one chilly autumn day and asked for a little help patrolling the corridors after lights out. He jumped at the chance, eager to prove himself and put off his daily nightmare for a while longer.

As it was a Friday, there were quite a few stragglers to deal with around Hogwarts. Cormac McLaggen, an obnoxious and egotistical Gryffindor who was disliked even by his own house, had started a loud and profane insult war with young Andrew Kirke on the astronomy tower stairway; Gemma took five points from the lions for breaking curfew and another five for obscenity. They caught Ravenclaw prefect Penelope Clearwater wandering down the third floor corridor with a ditzy smile and slightly dissheveled hair, probably fresh off a romantic encounter with Percy Weasley; Draco nearly gagged at the thought. Some girls had no taste. Gemma tersely suggested that the bint return to her duties, and she nodded vaguely.

Their greatest catch, at least in Draco's estimation, was Hermione Granger. Only a true swot would be coming back late from the library on a Friday night. She froze the moment she saw them, guilt and dread written all over her face.

"Well now," Gemma announced. "What have we here?"

"I ... I was just heading back to my common room," the girl stammered. "I don't want any trouble."

Draco gave her his nastiest smirk. "Then you should have started thirty minutes earlier, shouldn't you?"

"You're not the prefect here, Malfoy!" the muggleborn said bossily. "Section Four, Clause Nine Point Three of the Hogwarts rule book expressly forbids prefects to deputise other students or delegate their responsibilities!"

"But there's certainly no rule stating we can't seek informal assistance or advice, is there, Granger? And seeing as my chosen assistant _is_ in your year ... " Gemma turned to Draco and thumped him gently on the shoulder. "Any ideas, Malfoy?"

Draco considered his options. It wasn't _carte blanche,_ but he could do something with this. He was tempted to suggest twenty points from Gryffindor (ten for lateness and ten for substandard lineage), but how often did he get a chance to talk to the mudblood without Potter and Weasley around? Opportunism trumped resentment for the moment, and he quickly took her aside.

"I've seen you reading our newsletter," he whispered.

"What about it?" she huffed. "Maybe I find it interesting."

He leaned closer to her. Strange ... Theodore's father had told him mudbloods were ugly and foul-smelling, with skin as coarse as old leather. Granger smelled like cinnamon-scented soap and old books, and her complexion looked fine. She wasn't that hard on the eyes either, he supposed. He would have to tell Blaise about it.

"Just an observation, Granger. It's good that you're taking interest in your superiors. Learn to show the proper respect for us and we might even get along."

"Why should I respect people who constantly insult me?"

Draco put a mocking finger to his chin. "Why, indeed? Could it be that we have something you want? Something you need, if you're going to have any chance of succeeding in this world? Something called _knowledge?_ There are things we know that you'll never learn in class, Granger, no matter how closely you pay attention or how many little hearts you draw around Lockhart's notes ... "

"That is none of your business!" she cried.

" ... And I can tell you quite a few of them," he continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Eventually. For now let's see if you've sense enough to get yourself out of trouble ... though I realise that's asking a lot of a Gryffindor. I need you to research something, a snake. Huge, green, thirty or forty feet long with yellow eyes. I've heard such a thing may actually exist, and I'm ... curious. Look into it for me over the weekend and I'll call off Farley here."

Granger was already searching her vast memory for such a creature. She must have come up empty, because she scowled a little harder and became suspicious. "Why should I trust you?"

"I don't see that you have a choice in the matter. I could easily talk her into taking points, even feeding you to McGonagall if I tell her you offended me. So, do we have a deal?"

She grit her teeth and nodded slowly. "Fine."

"'Fine' won't do at all. You'll say 'thank you, Lord Malfoy'. Yes, I think that'll do nicely."

 _"No."_

"Oh, my. I think you just offended me. And to think you could have got off scot-free just by doing some research and showing a little respect ... but, if that's the way you want it. Tell me, with McGonagall cracking down on lateness, where _do_ you think you'll end up serving your detention? Snape's dungeon? The Black Lake? The Forbidden Forest? I'd tell you what I've seen in the depths of those places ... but it would probably haunt your nightmares."

Granger was seething. For a moment it seemed as though she would never relent, but fear and intellectual curiosity must have tilted the balance toward reason.

"Thank you," she ground out in an acid whisper. "Lord Malfoy."

A small tingle of pleasure shot up Draco's spine. That felt _good._

"I knew you were smart." He nodded and sauntered triumphantly back to Gemma. "Prefect, ma'am? Granger here has explained the situation to my satisfaction. Perhaps, just this once, we could let her off with a warning."

The prefect looked startled, but agreeable. "I see. Well, considering her academic record ... I suppose that's fine. Run along then, Granger."

With one more hateful glance at Draco, she scurried off.

"You surprised me," Gemma said as they walked along the first floor corridor. "Are you sure you despise that girl as much as you say?"

"Of course I do," he said sourly. "She's a jumped-up mudblood."

"She may be jumped-up but she's done a rather good job of staying in the air, don't you think? And you've a lot more to learn about being a model Slytherin if you're still using that word in polite company. Remember what Snape said about keeping a civil tongue in your head. Got it?"

Draco grumbled an apology and the trip continued in silence. The corridors were empty now, and he rather hoped they were finished so he could get some sleep. Sure enough, Gemma halted momentarily and pointed in the direction of the dungeons, writing a permission slip for him as she talked.

"You were a big help tonight, Malfoy. Thank you. Go on back to the dungeons and get some shut-eye; I just have to go check on something."

"You mean you're going to meet Selwyn, right?" he sniggered, taking the note. "Don't know what you see in him. How do you carry on a romance with a bloke who never gets out of the prefects' bath? Well, I can think of a _few_ ways, but—"

Gemma shook her head and smiled. "Get the hell out of here, Malfoy."

"If you want him to fall in love with you, just buy him some new deodorising soap," Draco called after her as she left. "He's probably gone through all fifty of the bars he brought from home!"

"I said sod off, you little rodent!" She playfully pointed her wand at him, then jogged around a corner and was gone.

Draco walked the opposite way and strolled leisurely across the empty Great Hall with his note in hand. She was all right, old Farley; rather like a big sister. He would miss having her around when she graduated in the spring. He was headed in the direction of the dungeons at a good clip when a very faint noise stopped him short. It was a distinctive whine coming from another corridor, one that was all too familiar since he'd begun spying on the girl who produced it.

Ginny Weasley.

His heartbeat quickened. He followed the voice, creeping through the hallways as quietly as possible. As it became more distinct he could tell she was arguing with someone.

" ... Not mum and dad, so I don't need you hovering over me! I've told you over and over again, I'm not sick!"

Another voice responded louder, pompous and overbearing. "Now Ginny, that's quite enough. You look peaked and downright exhausted. Just take one of Madam Pomfrey's pepper-ups and get some rest so I can stop worrying about you!"

"If I take it, will you leave me alone?!"

"Yes! Now come along!"

Draco recognised the boy's voice now. It was Percy Weasley, one of her brothers and the most unpopular prefect at Hogwarts. How rude of him, dragging his little sister out of their common room at night ... and how fortuitous. Draco stayed just out of sight as the two of them bickered all the way to the hospital wing. The lights were turned down due to the lateness of the hour, and it wasn't hard to slip in there after them and hide behind one of the unoccupied beds.

Madam Pomfrey bustled out of her office seconds later, fussing at the two Weasels to keep their voices down lest they disturb the patients. Another brief squabble between the three of them ended with the prat getting thrown out and some gentle chiding from Pomfrey.

"I promise it won't hurt at all, dear. Your brother just wants the best for you, you know, and you look like you need the rest. One pepper-up with a nice sedative, and you'll be right as rain. Wait here and I'll be right back."

Draco peeked out from behind the curtain as the nurse returned to her office. Ginny sat on one of the beds opposite him, looking pale and drawn. She fumbled inside her school robe and took out the diary, angrily scrawling something inside and then smiling as though she'd just gotten a reassuring answer. Bustling footsteps indicated Pomfrey was already on her way back, and Ginny quickly stuffed the book under her pillow.

"Here we are, Miss Weasley ... it's nice and hot of course ... take this and you'll feel much better in the morning."

She drank it in sips, further taxing Draco's endurance by whining about how spicy it was.

 _Only for you, father,_ he thought with a wince.

Finally the precious little weasel princess was finished with her potion and lay back on the cot with a sigh. Steam rose from her collar, her face, and even up through her wild red hair, which was sure to continue for at least twelve hours. Madam Pomfrey bustled about the wing for a while longer as her newest patient drifted off, but eventually she went back to her office.

Draco waited. Then, when the chamber was silent and Ginny's breathing became slow and steady, he slipped out from behind the empty bed and approached. Only a few other students were present tonight, also asleep; he knew one of them as Marietta Something-Or-Other, a dingbat from Ravenclaw with a shock of strawberry-blonde hair. It was no wonder she'd rubbed somebody the wrong way and ended up here. The third-year looked like a different person when unconscious. She really should stay that way.

With another furtive look around he advanced to Ginny's bedside. Despite the sedative, she was tossing a bit in her sleep. How typical of a Weasley; people who couldn't calm down and sit still could hardly be expected to take a good look at the world around them and appreciate their heritage. It was sad, really. Between her parents' delusions and her own fantasies of Saint Potter, it wasn't her fault she didn't realise her own potential. At what time _did_ people stop being children and become truly accountable for their actions? In Draco's case, hopefully not tonight, because he was not relishing this task as much as he'd anticipated.

Ginny turned again, and he oh so delicately reached beneath her pillow. The book was there; his fingers closed around it ...

The girl twitched, shifted again, and Draco swallowed down a groan of fear. She was lying on his _hand._

 _Move, damn you. Move!_

His ears picked up the ominous sound of bustling in the immediate vicinity.

Oh no. Not now. Not Pomfrey—

She was humming an unfamiliar tune as she walked in on him. "Hmmm, mmm-mm mm-hmmm ... to rid the disease ... "

He was doomed.

Then Ginny reacted to the noise, rolling fitfully to the other side of the mattress. His hand was free. Dizzy with tension, he pulled the diary from beneath the pillow and cowered under the bed, praying that the dark and Pomfrey's exhaustion would keep her from discovering him.

The woman hummed on, going from one bed to the next and checking on all her patients. Her footsteps receded again, and Draco breathed out slowly. That had been far too close.

He thought back to his curiosity about the Hand of Glory in Borgin's shop. _I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or plunderer, Borgin,_ his father said in that proud drawl Draco had inherited—and yet it was tonight, as a common crook, that he'd served the man best. It made him feel oddly empty and small. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes as he ducked out of the hospital wing and raced back to the dungeons. He met no one along the way. He gasped out this week's password at the entrance ("boomslang") and rushed into the common room hoping Luna would be there.

She was. A few other students were still hanging around, so he calmly went to the couch in the corner ( _their_ couch, now) and collapsed beside her, exhausted.

"I got the book," he whispered, opening the inner pocket of his robe to show her.

She didn't ask how. "You're not happy about it."

"No."

"It bothers you more than me," she mused after a moment. "I didn't expect that."

He just growled and fluffed his pillow.

 _Neither did I._

* * *

Another night, another dream ... another lovely jaunt through watery darkness with an apex predator. It had become quite predictable; while the fear was always there, its edge was wearing down. It penetrated his facade but no longer reached his heart. As a result, the inevitable demise did not always end the dream. Sometimes he remained on the floor, immobile but watching through the victim's eyes as the snake gloried in its victory, but that was the only variation.

Until now. This time, the snake loomed in front of him ... and did nothing. It was gazing fixedly to the side.

"What's going on?" he asked. It was his voice. He was himself, this time. "Why aren't you killing me? Finally got tired of it, did you?"

"She is being stubborn."

Draco surveyed the shadowed, dripping chamber. He saw no one.

"She is extremely difficult to tame. But then, that's just what her kind are bred for: pure savagery. Which makes them excellent weapons, if you can harness one ... and I shall, eventually. Then the hunt will begin. And no mudblooded barbarians will be spared. Their taint, their treachery ... gone forever."

He wasn't certain how to respond to that, so he remained silent. Killing all mudbloods? Wasn't that a tad extreme? Sure, they were wicked annoying, and it was a rather intriguing notion; the kind he tossed around with Vincent and Gregory all the time. But in reality ...

"Does that not please you?" the voice insisted.

"Perhaps you should be asking her that question," he evaded, indicating the sullen reptile before him. "Have you a name, sister snake?"

She lashed her tail in lazy acknowledgement; even that was enough to make the stones vibrate. Her voice—she had a _voice_ —was cold enough to extinguish a heliopath. _I wasss never given one._ _Sssister ... will do._

"A shame. I had hope for you when you didn't block out the dreams. But you're a coward after all, I see," the other voice said in disgust. It sounded quite young, not much older than he was.

He bristled. "Says the one who won't even show himself."

"Enough. Look at him and end the dream. He is not worthy of being in the Heir's presence!"

This was an order to the snake. She cowered and hissed mutinously.

Keeping his eyes on the floor, Draco walked up and touched her scales. When a gruesome end did not immediately follow, he spoke kindly to her.

"That a girl, Sister. Don't give in to him. Just between you and me, I think he's a right wanker."

A quavering hiss. She was laughing again, and this time he laughed with her. Then the rasps of her tongue began to form more words. _Oh, that he isss, Dream Sssspeaker. That he isss._

"How dare you?!" the voice shrieked. "Begone!"

A livid face, brown-haired, handsome, with a glint of red about the eyes. Then darkness.

He woke up to an empty common room and a warm blanket draped across his legs. On the sofa nearby was Luna's necklace, something she wouldn't ordinarily leave behind. _I am nearby,_ it said. _I will be back._ She might have been sleepwalking, which was common (and eerily indistinguishable from how she moved while awake), or simply using the lavatory.

Draco relaxed. He got up slowly to answer his own call of nature, and stepped over something hard and smooth.

His shoes. His best black dress shoes, the ones that had disappeared on the train. He knew he shouldn't feel grateful to her; that was manipulation, taking something and keeping it so long that it seemed like a favor when you finally returned it. Or was it her perverse way of trying to soothe his guilty conscience? Hard to say.

He put the shoes on and went to the bathroom. When he returned, Luna was back and already fast asleep on the couch. He reoccupied his favorite place slowly, so as not to wake her.

He couldn't fathom what went on in her mind, and maybe that was for the best. One thing was certain: he was glad she was on his side.

* * *

"Luna," he said breathlessly several hours later, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her from sleep. "Luna!"

She squinted and took hold of his wrists, short fingernails digging reproachfully into his flesh. The girl had a remarkable ability to convey different emotions without letting them show on her face or in her voice; he'd learned it was mainly in her body language. When she tilted her head back and cut her eyes at him, like now, it meant she was upset. "That's not how you should wake a lady, Draco Malfoy."

"But the diary—"

"We'll speak of nothing 'til you apologise."

"But I was only ... you don't understand ... life and death ... cats and dogs ... mass hysteria ... _grrrrrrr!"_ he paced angrily back and forth and stamped his foot. "All right, all right. I apologise!"

She straightened her head to indicate forgiveness. "I accept. Now you may explain."

"The diary!" Draco hissed. He didn't want to make a scene as it was Saturday morning and the common room was rather crowded, but he was on the verge of nuclear meltdown. "It's gone! I just woke up and checked my pocket, and ... "

"I see." She got to her feet and brushed off her puffy nightgown.

"Who could have done it? What are we going to do? I never even got a good look inside it! I was going to send it back to father first thing this morning, and now—"

She squeezed his wrists to steady him. "Be calm, Malfoy. Remember what Flint told you. 'Flying around in a panic will do nothing to help us win and everything to encourage our opponents.' He was whacking you on the back of the neck with a broom handle when he said it, but I won't do that. Unless you want me to."

Draco struggled to relax and look casual. "This isn't a bloody Quidditch game."

"But we have an opponent all the same," she said lightly. "Someone in Slytherin, as no others could have entered our common room. Someone who dared to steal from one of the most powerful magical families in Britain."

"Someone other than you, you mean," he said carefully. Hope flickered. Maybe _she_ had taken it just for a laugh! Maybe ...

"That was the nargles, remember?"

"Right. The nargles."

"I'm afraid I do not have the book. Best not to discuss it here, or where any other students might hear us. We should get dressed and meet in the kitchens."

His face twisted in disgust. "The kitchens! Now you listen to me, Luna. There is no way a Malfoy is going to take his breakfast in a loud, filthy kitchen with lowly house-elves!"

* * *

"Sugar?" she asked him.

He nodded with a faint groan.

 _"Wingardium Leviosa,"_ Luna said, levitating the sugar bowl over to them. It was a charm she struggled with in class, but now that the pressure was off she performed it with aplomb.

They sat at the end of a rough wooden table. It was quite long and could easily seat thirty more people, provided they had no standards. Ginny and her brood would have been right at home; in fact he wouldn't be surprised if they booked the place for their next family reunion. Candles provided an intimate and flickering light, flames jumped merrily in the huge wall fireplace, and a few dozen house-elves scurried busily about the other side of the room. They labored tirelessly over stoves and ovens and sinks, ducking and jumping over each other as they apparated hot heaping platters of food to the Great Hall where Ginny Weasley was conspicuously absent.

If nothing else, the kitchen was warm and they were unlikely to be disturbed. Luna was easily the most colourful thing in the room; as it was the weekend she wore what for her was a casual outfit of blue and fuchsia paisley-print slacks, loud pink woolen robe with red stripes, red trainers with some special material that shone like aluminum foil, and of course her typical radish earrings and cork necklace. Draco morosely took a sip of his tea. To his surprise, Luna had learned enough about pure-blood etiquette to know she should prepare it for him. Who had taught her so well? Pansy and Morag, most likely.

"Now then, about the diary," he said, taking one of his notebooks from his expensive black satchel marked with the Malfoy family crest. "I suppose the first thing to do is draw up a list of suspects. Who should we start with?"

"Me, of course."

He looked at her inquiringly. "But you just _said ... "_

"I know what I said, but it stands to reason. I had the perfect chance last night. Besides, I never liked the idea of stealing Ginny's diary and as you haven't searched my belongings yet, all you have is my word that I didn't take it just to give back to her."

Uneasily, he wrote _#1: Luna._ "Not that I'm going to, but would you have a problem with me searching your, uh ... "

"Not at all, Malfoy. For the record, if I had taken the book, I'd have hidden it in my underwear drawer because it's the last place you would want to search."

Draco's face turned a brilliant shade of cherry tomato. "Right."

"Unless I've had the wrong idea about you for a while now."

"Yes, you do! I mean, no you don't! I mean ... I don't want to look at your knickers!" he cried, burying his face in his hands. "Now can we please move on?"

She laughed heartily. "You're very funny when you get flustered, you know."

"Glad one of us is enjoying it," he replied stiffly.

"I suppose that brings us to our next suspect."

"Who?"

She raised her eyebrows and mimicked his usual smirk.

"Me?! Oh, come now! How could I steal the diary from myself?"

"Not from yourself, but from me, if you take my meaning. Perhaps you didn't like how I reacted when you showed it to me, or you didn't want to share the credit with me when you gave it back to your parents. So you just hid it in your room while I slept, then pretended it had been stolen the next morning. That would be quite the Slytherin thing to do, wouldn't it?"

He shifted uncomfortably. "I ... _suppose_ so. Fine. But it wasn't me, really! And I did want to share the credit with you."

"That's nice."

"Search my dorm too if you like. A bit more tea, please." Draco wrote _#2: Me,_ adding the relevant notes underneath, and politely accepted the cup when she had refilled it. "Who's next?"

"Our next suspect should be some other Slytherin with a motive. Why would one of us, besides you or I, want Ginny Weasley's diary?"

"I'm completely foxed on that one," he said wearily. "I never told anyone else I had it, or that my parents wanted it. Someone else might have seen it when I showed it to you in the common room ... "

"True. All of my classmates in first year would have seen Ginny writing in it from time to time."

"Were any of them in the common room when I came in last night?"

"No. It was well past curfew and they had all gone to bed," Luna answered. She was lost in thought for a minute. "The hospital wing. Were there any other Slytherins around when you took the book?"

"No. Besides, all of the patients were sound asleep."

"Was the door to the hospital wing open or closed?"

He felt his heart sink. "I ... I think it was open. Halfway, at least."

"Then anyone who came along could see you take it from under Ginny's pillow and follow you back here, couldn't they? Can you be quite sure there was no one behind you when you returned?"

"No," he admitted. "I was in a hurry."

"And besides you, who were the only snakes cleared to be outside the common room after curfew?"

Draco jumped up from the table. "The _prefects!_ Damn it! But if they thought I was up to no good, why not just talk to me and confiscate the diary? Why wait 'til I was asleep and take it from inside my robe?"

"They are Slytherins, you know."

"Even Slytherins have to go through official channels when they become prefects. Do things by the book, so to speak, or don't do them at all. Taking the cursed thing off my body while I'm asleep is anything but official." Draco shook his head. "Something's not right here, Luna. If it was a prefect, they wanted that diary for more than just disciplinary reasons. Didn't you say there was something strange about it?"

She nodded solemnly. "I did. The words she wrote disappeared. I know you don't believe me, but it's what I saw. And she's been acting rather strange ever since she came to school with it."

Luna took the notebook from him and turned it to a new page, scribbling several rather nice pictures (artistry, Draco predicted, might be in her future) to illustrate how the diary had changed hands.

"Quite a big journey for such a little book. It's now in the hands of a Slytherin prefect ... who took it from you ... who took it from Ginny ... who, in some way, got it from your father."

Draco opened his mouth to argue with her. "Now wait just a minute!"

"It's the only thing that makes sense. He knew exactly what the diary looked like, and he sounded quite afraid of what might happen if you didn't get it back."

"I certainly don't remember seeing that ratty old thing in our manor," he sniffed.

"Does your father make a habit of showing you all of his dark objects?"

Draco gave her a withering look, but he said nothing.

"No, of course not. If your father had it, and he never showed it to you, then maybe it is dangerous in some way. He would want to protect you from things like that."

He drained his teacup and put it back down on the table with an irritated thunk. "That's enough, do you hear? My father would _not_ allow one of his artefacts to fall into the hands of a Weasley! Even if he did, when could such a thing ever have happened? Our families despise each other. We haven't even spoken to them since ... "

Draco trailed off. His mouth went slack for a moment, and his face was even whiter than normal.

Luna refilled his teacup again, waiting patiently.

"Since father and Mr. Weasley got into a fight ... in Diagon Alley—oh, _Merlin!_ He had one of the girl's books that day ... gave it back to her after the ... " Draco paced the floor on the verge of hyperventilation, oblivious to the worried looks he was getting from the house-elves. He snatched the cup and drained it like a shot of firewhisky. "Luna, he couldn't have! A child would know better!"

He rushed over to his bag and whipped out a sheet of parchment, scrawling out a furious letter.

"I must see him and mother at once ... dragging me into an utter disaster ... I'm owed an explanation and I mean to get it!"

Luna rested her chin on her hands as she watched. "You're asking them to meet with you."

"With _us,_ Luna. You remember me saying I wanted to share the credit? Well, perhaps we both can still get something out of this. Here's what we're going to do ... "

* * *

The magical world was full of deception.

This must be understood before anything else. Hidden agendas, parlour politics, tall tales accepted as common knowledge; these were the evils among which all wizards and witches must live, upon which "civilization" as they knew it was built. To abandon convenient illusions was to abandon gentility, wealth, and the company of anyone who couldn't stomach opinions different from their own. This last included an alarming majority of pure-bloods and half-bloods and not a few muggleborns—who had occupied a separate but curiously similar world, and emerged from it preaching a great deal more openness and tolerance than they were capable of practising. To many it might seem as though there was no escape from the lies.

But there was a place. Atop a hill at the edge of a rustic village stood a grey stone tower, cylindrical and stout like a great rook, with several windows overlooking green meadows and a babbling stream. It was surrounded by a ramshackle wood fence from which a great number of enchanted trinkets were hung; the surrounding garden, still intact but withered by the autumn chill, boasted a cacophany of plants that lacked both restraint and direction. Through the brush and between two small crab apple trees heavy with mistletoe ("pick your own but watch for nargles," a sign on the gate said helpfully) was the heavy iron-studded front door.

Through this door, past the kitchen and up an iron spiral staircase, was the sitting room of Xenophilius Lovegood. It was festooned with a smack of random furniture and unusual pictures painted by his daughter. But with her away at Hogwarts and no longer needing a place to sit on the premises, the rounded chamber had become essentially a publishing house and print shop all in one. Piles and sheaves of parchment rested on every surface, from tea tables to couch cushions to windowsills. A printing press stood proudly near the wall, ready and waiting to spit out monthly issues of _The Quibbler._ Last but not least, nearly buried in the labyrinthine mess, was the man himself: a tall and skinny wizard in his forties with piercing and slightly crossed blue eyes. His robes were made from several different materials skillfully but nonsensically sewn together. His preeminent purpose in life, second only to raising his daughter, was to help society discover the truth.

But the truth was an ever-elusive force, undiscriminating and equally dangerous to all. To appreciate truth when it was found, one must first find the beauty in myth. Legend. Anecdota. All of these he dealt in with only a few editorial restraints to confine them, and chief among these was: they must not be _lies._

To be printed in his magazine, a story must be something in which the teller sincerely believed. Whether it be Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge amassing a private army of equine fire spirits or the moon frog infestation of Azkaban Prison that was jeopardizing inmate security and had even the dementors stymied, all of the theories he published must be the truth to somebody, pure and unfiltered. To ensure this, Xeno conducted extensive interviews and selected his sources carefully. Let the _Daily Prophet_ spread intentionally misleading bunk, or malicious rumors that people chose to believe in only because they suited their prejudices.

The rejection of intentional untruth was a difficult and seldom taken path. It was a lifestyle he and his late wife had both worked hard to practise and instill in their daughter. To an extent he felt they had succeeded. But at the same time Luna was neither his child nor Pandora's; she was herself. While she resisted artifice in her behavior and her expressions, her mother's grievous demise had forced her to discover her own truth very early in life: one that involved compromise, subterfuge, and a protective shroud of ambiguity. She was an independent and sometimes distant young lady. When Luna felt strongly enough about something to write him a letter, it was a special occasion. For that reason, the bit of parchment he spread out on his desk and read with such eagerness was neither one of his own rough drafts nor someone else's obscure conspiracy theory, but his daughter's request for help.

 _To Daddy:_

 _I have news. The idle blood of the Malfoys is stirring. They are upset and afraid, including my friend Draco whom I have told you so much about. It's a dark and mysterious business that could embarrass and even ruin them._

 _I have decided to stop this from happening if I can. If Draco and his family are ruined, there will be what my History Professor Binns calls a power vacuum at the top of magical Britain, and not the kind that muggles use to clean floors. This kind of vacuum will lead to much fighting and confusion and leave our society open to attack by the thing that we both fear. Minister Fudge and his heliopaths will be the least of our worries._

 _I am biassed. My friendship with Draco has something to do with this decision. Because of him most of my classmates accept me, and he has done some nice things, though he is not always a nice boy. I do not want anything bad to happen to him. You have often said that you wish we had more sources among dark wizards. His family has not been friendly with us in the past but that can change if we help them solve this problem._

 _I know you did not expect me to be a Slytherin, but you have been as loving and supportive as ever. If you are willing, let me know right away. I will tell you the whole story that I believe to be the truth, if you promise to tell no one else and write nothing of it in the magazine. I also ask that you destroy this message when you are finished reading it, just in case._

 _I will finish my very serious letter with a pun about snakes because I know how you enjoy them. Here it is._

 _Ssssssincerely,_

 _Luna_

Xeno intended to contemplate this for a few minutes. But time was a seductive and many-fingered thing, pulling his mind in directions unanticipated, and when he looked at the clock again it was near midnight.

Previous experiences had led him to somewhat dislike the Malfoys. Like many traditional pure-blood families they were political and secretive, and their thinking ran along dangerously narrow lines.

But he loved his daughter like the morning sunrise. Even objectively, he found her to be wise beyond her years. If there was something about this boy and his family that Luna found redeemable, then Xeno was willing to hear her out.

He rushed to his desk to write a favourable reply.

* * *

It was Sunday afternoon when Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy arrived at Hogwarts.

Casual visits from unenrolled family were rarely permitted. To enter the premises, Lucius used his political clout to cook up a pretence: namely, to recommend his wife as the future History of Magic professor when Binns eventually crossed over. She had, after all, managed to stay awake long enough to earn a N.E.W.T. in the subject during her days as a student.

As expected, Albus Dumbledore had very courteously shot this suggestion down in flames. It was almost as if previous experiences had made him skeptical of dark wizards happening on his doorstop and interviewing for jobs. Of course Lucius' own job on the school's Board of Governors meant there would be nepotism and an outrageous conflict of interest involved, but he liked to think it was his wife's funereal robes and theatrical leer as she promised to "teach these poor misguided children the _true_ history of magic" that really sealed their doom. If failure was inevitable then they might as well fail with style.

On their way out of the castle, he and Narcissa "casually" stopped by the office of Severus Snape, who had no objection to giving them a private conference with Draco—though it was the two people accompanying Draco that sent him fleeing to his bedchamber with a case of severe heartburn.

Draco was cordial and firm. "Mother. Father."

"Son," Lucius replied, eyeing the boy like a black adder that might strike at any moment.

"Darling," Narcissa smiled graciously. "We ... received your last letter."

"Yes," Lucius agreed with forced joviality. "In which, with quite ... startling language, I must say ... you insisted that we find a way to drop in and have a discussion with you face to face. Pertaining to ... er, that is ... "

Draco stared the two of them down with bad intentions. They could almost see his tongue flicking out to taste their unease. "The diary."

"Yes! The diary! An irrelevant trifle, really," Lucius assured him. "You said certain complications had arisen that left you rather ... perturbed?"

"As I recall, 'perturbed' was not the word I used," his son said. "I wrote 'outraged and embarrassed,' which I most certainly am. Mother? Suppose you and father explain what you know. Then I'll explain what I know, and we'll talk over what to do."

Narcissa carefully lowered her nonchalant mask and bit her lip gently. "Yes, I think that would be best."

Fifteen minutes of tense conversation later, the three of them stood in mutual shock and apprehension. An artefact that had belonged to an "old friend" of Lucius. Dark magic that his father hoped had worn off. The likelihood that, if the diary were still absorbing words and even writing back, said magic was as potent as ever. The legend of the Chamber of Secrets holding a menace that no one knew the nature of. The risk of a massive political scandal for the Malfoys. The possibility that they had placed the school's entire muggleborn population in mortal danger. The matter of his dreams, which he'd never even told his parents about until now ...

It was a black day for the Malfoy clan, all things considered. And Draco, ever the conniving opportunist, was about to offer his parents a ray of light.

"Mother, father ... now that we're all on the same page, I think it's time I told you the other reason for your visit."

They looked up, instantly suspicious and intrigued.

"The nub is that our family's entire reputation is at stake all because of a cursed diary and its proximity to the daughter of our worst political enemies. Desperate measures may be needed to fix this. Is that more or less accurate?"

"It is," Narcissa admitted.

"With that in mind, wouldn't it be positively fetch," he continued flippantly, "to have a third party who could help us recover this diary _and_ negotiate a bargain between us and the Weasleys if needed?"

"That would be serendipitous," Lucuis agreed, fidgeting with his cane.

Draco went in for the kill. "And with that in mind, you would not object if this third party were somewhat ... unorthodox?"

His parents exchanged very nervous glances.

"Perhaps not," Narcissa said cautiously.

"Splendid. Then allow me to introduce the only ones who can help salvage our reputation: the invaluable anonymous source I mentioned to you, and her highly influential father ... " Draco threw open the door of Snape's storage room where, when last he left them, one tall and one petite figure were gaily rummaging through the professor's potion ingredients.

They were gone. The room was empty.

Draco looked around in consternation. "I ... that is ... they were here just a moment ago ... "

"If this is meant to be some sort of joke, Draco," Lucius began testily, "I'm afraid I don't see the—"

 _"Hullo,"_ said two dreamy voices in unison.

As the voices came from directly behind the Malfoys, all three of them jumped a foot.

Luna and Xeno stood there with twin congenial smiles and wondering eyes. Draco had convinced them to dress conservatively in dark robes, but nothing could suppress the aura of distinct dottiness exuded by both father and daughter. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy regarded them with befuddlement. Draco glanced fearfully between the two parties as the silence grew oppressive. Someone had to break the ice, so it was just as well that Luna reached into her bag and generously produced several copies of a certain colourfully illustrated periodical.

"We're glad to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy," Luna said with a perfectly executed pure-blood curtsy, and offered them one of the magazines. _"Quibbler?"_


	8. The Hunt Begins

_A/N: Seven chapters in, this is where we are: so far, Draco has not made any connection between his nightmares and the diary situation. That may change soon. Keep an eye out for the phrase "honourless scum," which is a shameless reference to a scene in Hyaroo's 'Weasley Girl: Secrets of the Past.' Who took the book, and why? Will the Malfoys and Lovegoods come to an understanding? Has Hermione done her research? Will the Chamber be opened again? How is Ginny doing? Let's find out after a quick message to my last reviewers..._

* * *

AbuvTheClouds: _Thank you! I look at my own writing and all I see is problems. It never seems good enough. But it's gratifying to know I'm making people happy and entertained. Honestly, the story might not survive otherwise, because without feedback my confidence goes. I'm not the most courageous writer. (Why Pottermore placed me in Gryffindor I'll never know!)_

The Jingo - The King in White: _Thanks a million for reviewing every chapter! That's extremely rewarding. You win the cookie. Sadly I can't give you a cookie in cyberspace, so I'll give you another chapter instead. Draco is having a tumultuous second year but at least it's keeping him busy. Left to his own devices, he would simply coast in "arrogant bigot mode" as he did in canon. The events of this story are forcing him to actually think._

ifyoudieidie02: _I'm enjoying it too, more than anything I've written in years. This is probably the most effort I've ever put into developing a real cast of characters (instead of focusing exclusively on my favorites)._

Bartholomew Black: _I'm excited for the possibilities myself! The Malfoys and the Lovegoods go together like nitro and glycerine, strangely perfect yet potentially explosive._

Lucky Strike's alter ego (ch.1): _As a Slytherin Luna operates at an emotional distance from what's happening around her, and a moral distance as well. Even I don't know exactly what she's thinking, and that's where Xeno comes in handy; seeing Luna through his eyes may be as close as we ever come to getting inside her head._

* * *

 **VIII: The Hunt Begins**

"The Lovegoods are neither dark wizards nor light," Draco said smoothly. He had been some little time rehearsing this speech and though nerves threatened to get the better of him, he swallowed hard and kept his voice steady. Before he said anything more about Luna, he had to legitimise her father. If his parents were unwilling to associate with Xeno the plan would fall apart. "They are observers with a unique view of how wizarding Britain is changing. Mr. Lovegood is a journalist, not a mudslinger like that Skeeter woman but a legitimate reporter ... "

He was interrupted by a sudden gasp from Xeno, who reached into his robes and whipped out an apparatus very similar to the one Luna had shown him, painted in Ravenclaw blue and bronze. The man summarily strapped it around his head and muttered a suction spell, his slightly crossed eyes bulging as it noisily took effect. He applied the horn to each ear in turn as the appalled Malfoys looked on. After a moment he nodded to himself and stuffed the kit back into his robe.

"A legitimate reporter, if ... a tad ... unconventional," Draco continued uneasily. "He is highly resourceful and generous to those he deems worthy. The Slytherin newsletter I've been mailing you once a week is printed in his home. Without him and Luna, it never would have got off the ground."

This last bit seemed to make an impression. Narcissa sent Lucius a pointed glance; he quirked his lip.

"Mr. Lovegood, allow me to introduce my infinitely _forbearing_ and _supportive_ parents, Lord Lucius Malfoy and Lady Narcissa Malfoy-Black." Draco bowed, knowing that description to be bollocks yet hoping they would attempt to live up to it. Both elders reluctantly stepped forward. His father looked the part of a dignified lord even in a dingy cellblock-turned-classroom. His blonde hair was almost as long as his wife's, his eyes a mirror image of his son's. His mother had a somewhat rosier complexion and considerably more energy which, unlike most of her fellow Blacks, she had learned to repress. Draco got that from her, as well as the tendency to blush easily.

"An honor to meet you, Lord and Lady Malfoy, I'm sure," Xeno said in a hushed, lilting Irish accent very much like his daughter's. Straight white hair the texture of candyfloss grew to his shoulders, and around his neck hung a strange gold pendant shaped like a divided circle within a triangle. "Do pardon my outburst earlier ... sudden attack of the wrackspurts, you know. I am only too happy to support my Luna's house. She is an exceptional girl, and her prodigious gift has made it difficult to find acceptance among her peers. Yet Slytherin has welcomed her as one of their own. Your son's kindness speaks well of you."

Lucius was still quite taken aback; it wasn't often he witnessed an emergency de-wrackspurting or heard his son described as 'kind.' Both, in fact, might have been firsts. But when the other wizard offered his hand he tentatively reached up and shook it. "An unexpected pleasure, Mr. Lovegood. I have always appreciated your support of the Cultural Preservation Initiative, though your support of certain ... _other_ proposals has led to some confusion on my part."

"I only wish we could have met sooner to sort everything out," Narcissa said awkwardly. "Unfortunately, our families have run in different circles for so long that ... "

Xeno gave a good-natured chuckle as she trailed off. "What you mean to say, my dear lady, is that we are not in the same economic or ideological class, nor have we ever been. Which is something you needn't be embarrassed to point out ... z _ounds!"_ This sudden high-pitched exclamation was loud enough to ring off the stone walls. "Mr. Malfoy, I have only just now realised that you enjoy plum pudding just as much as I do! It goes to show that even the most dissimilar people can have something wonderful in common."

To his son's dismay, the man was correct. Lucius let out a nervous chuckle. "How, may I ask, did you know that I adore plum pudding?"

"The dabberblimps, of course! They've taken quite a liking to you. Floating and clustering about your ankles like they are; that's a sure sign. They can't resist plums. My Luna and I spend hours chasing them out of the house during the holidays."

"I love pudding," Luna added blissfully. "You must try some made from daddy's dirigible plums, Lord Malfoy. He grows them lighter than air, and the flavor is lovely."

Lucius and Narcissa were still looking down at their ankles in a vain attempt to see the mysterious creatures.

"Indeed! But I have quite forgotten my manners. To answer your implied question, Mr. Malfoy ... " Xeno leaned in conspiratorially as though about to reveal an earth-shattering secret, seemingly unaware that he was intruding on Lucius' personal space. "As a journalist ... _I quite cherish my objectivity._ I know, I know, that's remarkably risky ... and one can't say it too loudly to certain people, especially those toadies at the _Daily Prophet._ But no position is too out of bounds, no story too obscure if the teller's motives are genuine! If a reporter cannot comprehend a plethora of opposing views and causes, then what hope has he of understanding the world he reports on?"

"Ahhh." Lucius stepped back uncomfortably, but managed a knowing smirk. "And what kind of reporter would you be if you failed to cultivate as many sources as possible?"

"A typical one in this day and age, I fear. But as you may have noticed, conformity has never been a high priority for the Lovegoods."

Polite laughter followed on both sides, and Lucius appeared to relax. "I always believed that journalism was similar to politics. The professions are naturally at odds with each other, yet they enrich and take cues from each other as well. I spend much of my day gathering unreliable information and juggling supporters who are all vying for my ear. Sometimes it's enough to drive one mad."

"It is indeed!" Xeno agreed. "I lost my mind a long time ago according to my mainstream colleagues and not a few of my readers, but I prefer to believe that I gave up my _subtlety,_ which is not nearly so terrible a loss. I am pathologically unable to filter much of what I say or write, and my daughter is much the same; therefore if we should seem tactless or eccentric, I do ask you to bear with us."

This was going better than Draco had thought. It helped that his parents were so far over a barrel they no longer had the luxury of dismissing the Lovegoods as crazy blood traitors ... and because of that, his father discovered he had certain things in common with Luna's.

Had he been doing the same thing until now? Running off other children who could have been allies, even friends? But, Draco told himself, he had been _right_ to do that. One must have standards. His family were not reporters but socialites, powerful icons of the upper class; they could afford to make enemies everywhere else. But now, recalling his father's words and the look of dread on his face mere minutes ago, the possibility of disaster became quite real. Suppose a scandal did occur, and it did ruin them? How many of their pure-blood allies would disappear? And if they all did, on whom could they fall back for support?

The conversation between his and Luna's parents droned on, but Draco heard not a word of it. Icy fear gripped his heart. He felt like an abyss had just opened beneath his feet and swallowed him into nothingness. The same "nothing" that he reduced so many other students to when they crossed his path. The same "nothing" he had been in his dreams, at least until last night when he barely slept at all. Oh, Merlin ... was _that_ what it felt like?

He grit his teeth, resisting this sudden weakness with all the resentment he could muster. No. _No!_ Mudbloods were foul, and uncouth, and unworthy, and ...

... And vulnerable. So terribly vulnerable, stumbling into a world their fragile minds could scarcely comprehend, that they were easy prey to anyone with half a mind to go after them. For instance, a certain wanker who called himself "the Heir" and the fearsome predator he was working so hard to tame. Almost unwillingly he imagined someone like Granger in his place, dying the same lonely and ignominious death, and something turned over in his stomach.

Thank Circe those were only dreams.

A small, cool hand reached out and touched his. It was Luna, with a silent question in her eyes. He wanted to tell her what was wrong, but the words wouldn't come just yet.

"Luna?" his mother said. She was looking at them, waiting for his friend to say something. She must have seen their hands touching, because she gave a curious little smile. Draco could almost see the gears turning in her head. Mr. Lovegood and his father didn't seem to have noticed, as the former was showing the latter a page of an old _Quibbler_ article where he, or someone, had alleged that the Malfoys were descended from 'veela blood.' Pure nonsense, but good for a laugh if nothing else, and fortunately his father _was_ laughing.

"Forgive me for being distracted, ma'am," said Luna. "I thought I saw a blibbering humdinger."

"Where, darling?" Xeno broke in excitedly.

She pointed to some misshapen lump that was lying on one of Snape's shelves. "But I see now I was mistaken. To answer your question, Mrs. Malfoy, we met on the Hogwarts Express. He was sitting with a girl who had lovely eyebrows, and a boy who said I smelled like peaches."

"Pansy and Blaise," Draco added, seeing his mother's baffled expression.

"Yes, that was them. I fear your son did not know what to make of me at first, owing to the treachery of the nargles," Luna went on. "But when we started sleeping togeth— _rrrrmmm_ _mmmfffffl mmmmppph."_

The rest of the sentence was muffled when Draco frantically put his hand over her mouth, preventing a disclosure that—even when the context was explained—might not go over well with any of the adults in the room. "What Luna _means_ to say," he said shrilly, "is that we got to talking about my dreams and soon became friends. That's it, really."

Luna wrenched his hand away. Irritably raising her chin, she proceeded to spell out exactly why they were all here. "Your son is my _best_ friend, despite his rudeness. And because friends protect each other, daddy and I are here to help you clean up a frightful mess. You all could be in a great deal of trouble if the diary ever came to light, which would make Albus Dumbledore and the Weasleys very happy. The only thing standing between you and them is us."

This brought the elder Malfoys up short. His father maintained a death grip on his cane; his mother glowered.

Draco quickly jumped in to heal the breach. "And Luna, if you'll forgive her bluntness, is my best friend as well. She is close to Ginny and trusted by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and was instrumental in helping me retrieve the diary. She's our resident astronomy whiz as well as our new Quidditch commentator. Her late mother was one of Professor Snape's finest students. In short she has been a credit to our house."

Luna looked at him then, seeming to turn his comments over in her mind for any trace of insincerity. Finding none, she offered an appreciative nod that spoke volumes.

"It is never easy to admit that we need help. But despite our differences," Draco concluded, looking askance at Xeno who had taken down a charred and mutilated animal pelt from Snape's wall and was curiously sniffing it, "the Lovegoods _are_ here to support us."

"The boy speaks truly," the publisher announced between sniffs. "Our reasons are pragmatic as well as personal. Maintaining the power and influence of the Malfoys is in everyone's best interests. If the book is discovered by the wrong people and your reputation is destroyed, magical Britain shall be left without conservative leadership, throwing our political climate into chaos ... and as you will no doubt concede if you have ever seen a dabberblimp in flight: imbalance is weakness."

After what seemed like an eternity his parents looked at each other. Narcissa inclined her head slightly, and Lucius cleared his throat as he turned back to Luna's father.

"Very well, Mr. Lovegood ... "

"Xeno, please."

"Draco tells me the three of you have a plan. My wife and I should very much like to hear it."

Xeno crowed with intense excitement. "Joy! Serenity! Little white pumpkins!" He looked expectantly at his daughter, who watched him lovingly but said nothing. "Luna, dear, that was your cue."

"Oh. I thought you said 'little white dumplings.' Very well, daddy."

Luna folded her hands in front of her and prepared to take over the discussion as her father abruptly shrugged out of his robes. Fortunately for everyone present he was wearing something underneath: a rubber potion-maker's apron. He floated gracefully into the storage room and began measuring out ingredients for brewing.

"Funny that you mentioned politics," Luna began, "for daddy has explained to me a practise called damage control ... "

* * *

"Ginny?"

"Go away."

"Ginny ... " The voice came again, pleading this time. "Just listen to me."

"No. Go away," she said again, wincing. Godric, how she tired of that nickname! All it did was remind her how young and weak she was.

"Gin—"

"And tonic! Go away, Vicky."

A heavy sigh and receding steps in the dorm suggested the nosy girl had finally complied.

Ginny had come temporarily unhinged when she woke up in hospital Saturday morning to find the diary gone. She'd looked through her robes, taken the bed apart, run to the other patients' beds and started tearing _them_ apart ... a flabbergasted Madam Pomfrey had chalked it up to some kind of panic attack, an unfortunate side effect of the sedative perhaps. Ginny had to sit through a few more tests, ears still steaming from the pepper-up potion, before she was allowed to leave. Then she went straight to her dormitory and retreated to bed, closing the curtains with the few privacy spells she had learned. She'd been there ever since, and her roommates were starting to worry about her.

Let them worry. They couldn't help anyway, and she didn't need them. She needed _him._ Tom Riddle. He was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her, and now he was gone.

Ginny ran out of tears a long time ago, and as the sorrow dulled a quiet fury had set in. Most unlike the fiery outbursts typical of her family, this anger smouldered beneath her skin. It was patient. It was instructive, rather than disruptive. It guided her.

She would find out who had stolen Tom. She would make them regret it. After that, she would take the diary back and never give him up again. There was only one problem: she had no idea where to start looking. Percy had left the door to the hospital wing open when he left, and anyone could have peeked inside and seen her writing in the book before she took the potion and fell asleep. But the only ones allowed in the halls after curfew were prefects, staff, and ghosts. Who among them was so cruel they would steal an eleven-year-old girl's diary? Snape? Filch? Peeves?

 _Peeves!_ That miserable troublemaker! This was just the sort of thing he would do, and he'd been calling her names and dropping water balloons on her head since she got here. He knew every inch of Hogwarts and could turn invisible at will. If he had the book hidden, she'd never find it. She really should go to Professor McGonagall, or Professor Dumbledore, they would surely be able to retrieve it—but they had many more important things to do, and what if they found out Tom was inside the book? From the very beginning he made her promise never to let anyone else find out about him, or he wouldn't be able to write to her anymore.

 _What am I going to do?_

Then she remembered some of her own words: _All my life people have been babying me ... I never want to feel small and weak again._ It was time to suit her actions to those words. This time she wouldn't go crying to a teacher, or Hermione, or any of her brothers. And she certainly wouldn't wait for Harry Potter to come to her rescue. Revenge was a dish best served colder than her mother's leftovers. Tom had taught her that, and many more things besides. When the opportunity came along ... she would deal with Peeves in her own way.

After a short but relaxing bath, she realised she was aching with hunger. Dinner was most likely over with now, but they always left out some fruit and sandwiches for stragglers. Ginny hurried to the Great Hall, where most of the students had indeed already left. She grabbed a roast beef sandwich, sat down, and moodily began to eat.

"That was always my favorite."

The voice was nearly a monotone, similar to the traumatised whispers Ginny heard when she once accompanied her parents to the Janus Thickey Ward of St. Mungo's, and it was accented by the clink of heavy chains. The food in her mouth suddenly had no taste. She didn't have to look at the seat next to her to know who was there, and in fact would have preferred not to, but it seemed important somehow.

She swallowed and met the blank, dead eyes of the Baron. The dread ghost of Slytherin house seldom left the Astronomy Tower, but when he did he made quite the impression. As ever, his robes were soaked down the front with fresh silvery blood; whether it was his or someone else's, no one seemed to know. Even the other spirits at Hogwarts gave him a wide berth.

"It is good," she heard herself saying. "Better than my mother's; hers is always dry. But she doesn't have a lot of time, you know."

Clearly this wasn't the response the Baron had been counting on. He leaned closer to her. His powdered wig swayed at the sides of his head. "Are you not frightened, girl?"

Ginny knew that she should be, but her anger over the diary had left her rather numb to everything else. "I'll live. If you'll pardon the expression."

His haggard face curved up into a hideous smile. "Well, well. I can't remember the last first-year student who didn't fear me. I once frightened your brother William so badly, he did not emerge from his room for a week. But you are cut from stronger cloth, I see."

"You know who I am?"

"One can always spot a Weasley ... though I admit your given name escapes me."

"I'm Ginevra," she said, hoping to sound formal and grown-up by using her full name. At that moment she felt an idea floating gradually, languorously to the surface, like a corpse in the black pool of her mind. It reeked equally of hope and desperation.

Oh, but one did not simply ask a favor of a ghost upon their first meeting. First she must establish an acquaintance, gain his trust, prove to him she was someone worth remembering and nothing like the other lions he no doubt abhorred. Then, and only then, could her plan come to fruition.

* * *

"Malfoy."

The whisper came from an empty classroom as he was walking from Monday morning breakfast to his first class. He surreptitiously peeked through the doorway to see Hermione Granger waiting in the shadows with a notebook. When he stepped inside, she removed several highly detailed pages and handed them over.

"I've done your precious research. If none of these creatures are the kind of loathsome 'giant snake' you were thinking of, you could always try looking in the mirror."

She made a move to walk away.

"I'll take that as a compliment ... Hermione."

She whirled and looked at him in shock. He had never used her first name before, or addressed her with such a pronounced absence of malice. "That's Miss Granger to you, thank you very much!"

"Wrong. You've just lived up to your word and done me a favor. That makes us associates, whether you like it or not. Therefore I shall call you Hermione, as you have no proper wizarding blood and are drastically below my station. You may continue calling me Lord Malfoy, however. Show me that respect and you might even receive my protection again someday."

"I don't need your help. Go preach your pure-blood politics to all your other arrogant, insufferable friends, 'Lord' Malfoy. They mean nothing to me and they never will."

Draco shook his head slowly. "You really don't know anything at all, do you? Oh, you can memorize a textbook just fine, but as far as the real magical world goes ... have you any notion how few opportunities exist for muggleborn wizards and witches in this society? I don't _care,_ mind you. I'm simply trying to find out whether you're stubborn or simply naïve. Either way you won't last long."

"There are plenty of opportunities according to my teachers, and I'm quite sure they know better than you!"

"Your teachers adore you, Hermione. I don't. Unlike them I don't need to sugar-coat the truth. And the truth is that most of those opportunities are beneath your potential."

"I ... I'm sure I can start my own business, then," she said, but her forced confidence told him he'd hit a sore point.

"With whose money? On whose plot of land?"

Silence. They stared at each other.

"You've no idea of the odds stacked against you. There's hardly a muggleborn wizard alive who achieved a higher calling than serving drinks without paying his dues. And the way to do that is to assist proper half-blood and pure-blood wizards who can back them later. It's simply the way of things."

"Even if that's true, I have plenty of options," Granger said coldly. "And plenty of time to sort them out. So if you're hoping I'll come begging _your_ family for a job, don't hold your breath. I don't fancy constant verbal and physical abuse from bigots ... "

Draco shook his head and laughed. "Rubbish. You really do think we're all monsters, don't you?"

"And furthermore, there are plenty of wizards in Gryffindor from famous families, who would be glad to—"

"Not even Saint Potter's fame could buy you the opportunities I can," he said flatly. "And you've got too much ambition to settle for any less than the best."

Oh, Merlin. Now the bushy little swot looked like she might cry. How was he going to deal with that? He couldn't. The only option was to say something halfway nice; hold back the waterworks at all costs.

"We don't have to be enemies, you know."

She wiped her eyes and scoffed, but her surprise was clear. "Now who's talking rubbish? I know quite well how you Slytherins feel about all _mudbloods,_ Malfoy, even if you won't say the word in front of me."

"I wasn't speaking of all of them, now was I?"

Silence again.

"As you said, I'm a snake. I won't bite unless you give me a reason, and strutting around acting like you've got the magical world in your robe pocket just because you're bright and you know the Boy Who Lived is certainly a reason. It's like painting a target on your forehead. If you could tear yourself away from Potter and Weasley long enough to learn how proper wizards think, you would know that by now."

"I like them. They're my friends!" she snapped defensively. Something in her admittedly smart mind clicked then; her eyes narrowed. "And why do you keep coming back to my safety?"

He wasn't about to tell her about his dreams, or his newfound ability to put himself in her place. "Why do you keep disregarding it? My offer stands. Think it over, _Hermione."_

He tucked her notes away and left the room, knowing he would be about ten minutes late to herbology and possibly lose points. He would have to make up for them later with additional effort in potions.

* * *

The next few weeks passed quickly. While Luna and Draco dutifully kept in touch with their parents and kept an eye out for any suspicious activity in their house, she convinced him to stick to her and Xeno's plan. Through the grapevine they gradually learned which Slytherins were known to keep diaries; Morag, Daphne, Sophie, Cassius Warrington (surprisingly), and prefects Alexandra Sykes and Damian Perriss were among them. But none of these books matched Ginny's. Whoever did have the diary, they kept it under wraps much more effectively than its previous owner.

There were times when Draco felt he might collapse from anxiety. Some malicious person, he insisted, had one of his father's worst dark artefacts and was just waiting to expose or blackmail the Malfoys with it. He had at least one thing going for him: his nightmares had stopped. Since the run-in with the sullen predator and its homicidal handler that fateful Friday night, he never dreamed of the giant snake again. It was like a long-term connection had been severed. Draco was somewhat relieved about that, but he wasn't taking any chances: for now he went to bed in the same corner of the common room, and Luna stayed with him when she wasn't sleepwalking or exploring the castle.

The cool, soggy weather persisted into late October, a nearly unbroken atmospheric tableau of gray that only a Severus Snape could enjoy. And as it happened, the man _was_ enjoying it. What he did not enjoy, and in fact could not bear, was so-called Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor Gilderoy Lockhart.

On this particular Wednesday night, after the incompetent boob had the audacity to lecture _him_ on the proper way to brew the Draught of Peace—or as the informal and dunderheaded masses called it, a calming draught—Snape found himself very near the end of his tether. Judging by his sudden interest, it was almost certainly Lockhart who had pilfered several ingredients from his storage a few weeks ago. He was looming over his desk and furiously scribbling an official complaint to the Headmaster. Normally he would just go straight to Dumbledore's office and complain in person, but the old man had been disappearing quite a bit lately to meddle in Ministry affairs or to "sort out the Potter accounts" at Gringotts. How had he ever gained control of those, anyway? The whole thing was bizarre, and if Potter were in his house Snape certainly would have looked into it by now. But the boy was unbearably Gryffindor just like his father, and therefore a hopeless case, so Snape didn't much care.

He'd kept an eye out for any new opportunities to harass Lovegood, but she was proving herself an adequate potions student even by his exacting standards. Though she couldn't hold a candle to her mother's abilities, she absorbed more of the material than her wavering attention span would suggest. Her essays were written in a wide and looping but legible cursive, and her brewing skills were passable with snooty but respectful Morag Ollivander as her regular partner. At the very least she hadn't blown up his classroom yet, unlike that insufferable Dean Thomas last week ...

Still, Snape could not stand the girl. The only thing he liked about having her in his class was being able to punish her, and since all the other first-years continued to wear _their_ wands behind their ears, his hands were essentially tied. Well, if the other snakes were determined to spoil his fun with Lovegood, then so be it; he would simply ignore her existence as much as possible, and redouble his harassment of Potter to make up the difference.

Secretly Snape was relieved. What he preferred not to think about, what he would never admit to anybody, was that punishing Luna Lovegood had been something akin to torture.

She was not like other students. Shrewd ... oh Merlin, she was shrewd—far more so than she first appeared. For every increasingly humiliating chore he forced upon her, she drove _him_ increasingly mad. Laughing and giggling with delight at things he couldn't see, describing ludicrous invisible creatures that cavorted beneath his nose ... and worst of all were the little stories she told about her mother. Luna had mentioned her innocently in the second detention but then, seeing how it pained him, continued to bring up Pandora every night since: toying with him, making him wonder how much she knew, how much Pandora had told her that she might use against him. Not merely signalling that he couldn't break her, but rubbing his face in it.

Or perhaps he was just being paranoid. Whatever the case, not having to deal with that anymore made this a much happier month for him. Or it would have, if not for the aforementioned incompetent boob. Perhaps McGonagall could help; she was a pain to deal with, but she despised Lockhart as much as he did. He would have to hurry if he was going to catch her before she went to bed. Snape finished up his first draft of the letter and was stalking up from the dungeons when he heard a resounding _crash._

 _What in Merlin's name ... ?_

His senses spiked; his heart pounded. Snape hated loud and sudden noises. His first instinct was always to find out what or who had disturbed his thoughts and hex the offender senseless, or at least bite off a large chunk of house points. It must have come from the second floor, just one story above him.

He tucked the letter into his robe and briskly ascended the nearest staircase, hoping it would take him where it was supposed to; the castle seemed to punish him whenever he went too far out of his way. But he cleared the stairs much faster than he expected to, and the sound of voices down the corridor told him he was on the right track. It was almost as if the building wanted him to see this.

The familiar translucent figure of Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington floated out of an empty classroom, chuckling to himself as he disappeared down another hallway. "Ha ha! Let's see how Filch likes that, eh?! He'll be down here in a twinkling ... "

Snape was about to approach when he heard a loud _meow_ and aggravated footsteps in the distance. He stopped, smirking, to wait for Filch. He couldn't resist the temptation to see the look on that miserable squib's face and thus he missed a highly unusual scene that unfolded in the classroom, where Peeves the poltergeist stood snickering over the splintered remains of a huge black and gold-painted cabinet he'd just smashed over Filch's office. The little bells on his jester's cap tinkled as he hopped delightfully from one foot to the other. Oh, what a thrill! Pulling rugs out from under students or sneaking up and pinching their noses was one thing, but nothing beat the rush he got from senseless destruction. Nearly Headless Nick had been so right; he really should try this more often. But Filch would be here soon, and he really should—

There was no sound, no warning as two small hands clutched the back of his tunic and flung him sprawling into the wreckage. Peeves howled, twisting his body against something that was crawling on top of him, and gazed up at an incongruous pair of faces. One was young and alive; the other was middle-aged and quite, quite dead.

"Why, y-your honour!" he cried to the latter. "Was I d-disturbing you?"

"If you attempt to escape, Peeves," the Bloody Baron threatened, "I shall cease frightening the students and haunt _you_ henceforth, forever. Do we understand each other?"

He shuddered deeply and nodded.

"Now, there is something this young lady wishes to discuss with you."

An irate Ginevra Weasley now put her full weight on him and leaned down into his face. "I'm afraid you've gone and upset me, Peeves."

"Eek! Ack! Bad touch, bad touch! Heeeelp!"

"Shut up, you little freak. You know what I'm here for and if you know what's good for you, you'll give it back to me."

"Oi, oi! What is the Weaslette talking about?!" Peeves protested with a nervous giggle. "Has some other mischief-maker pointed the finger at poor innocent Peevsie? Shame, shame, blame and frame!"

"I know it was you, Peeves," Ginevra snarled in a voice her own mother would scarcely have recognised. Her hair stood out wildly about her head. "Now let's have it! Or I'll let him haunt you anyway!"

The spirit let out a terrified wail, and his physical form vanished. Moments later, not one object but a whole smorgasbord ... books, toys, gadgets, scrolls ... appeared from thin air and dropped right into her lap. They heard footsteps in the corridor, and in a panic she swept all the things into her raggedy bookbag and hid in the closet as the other ghost faded from sight. She heard two voices in the room: Snape's and Filch's, bickering about what had happened and who was responsible.

"If you're so certain it was Peeves then you can report him yourself, Argus. I have my own business to attend to," Snape finally said before walking out. Filch and Mrs. Norris followed soon after.

As soon as Filch's grumbling faded into the distance, Ginevra crept out of the closet and opened the bookbag. She sorted hopefully through her spoils, but seeing that the diary was not among them, she slumped back onto the stone floor.

"I would not be surprised if that is everything he's taken from your brothers over the years," the Bloody Baron said gravely as he reappeared nearby. "I see no diary, however."

She sniffled. "He was telling the truth, wasn't he? Oh, nuts. And I really thought it was him."

"Don't cry. If nothing else we planted a few seeds tonight, did we not?"

She looked up, hardly blinking now at his awful, leering visage. "Seeds?"

"If one plants asphodel, he grows asphodel. If one plants mandrakes, he grows mandrakes. If one plants fear in another's heart, tends and nurtures it ... that fear will grow. Continue to display the same strength you did tonight, and Peeves won't dare bother you again ... and many other inconveniences shall learn to avoid you as well."

Ginevra thought about that possibility and decided she liked it. She liked it quite a lot. It sounded rather like something Tom would say. Perhaps he wasn't as indispensable as she thought. Of course, she still intended to get him back, and plant a few 'seeds' in the thief before all was said and done.

"Just some friendly advice from an old Slytherin who knows a thing or two about scaring people," the Baron said wisely. "For there's quite a bit of Slytherin in you as well, I dare say."

She wasn't certain how to feel about that, but since it was clearly intended as a compliment, she accepted it politely. "Thank you."

"Now then, Ginevra ... I've held up my end of the bargain, so you will come to Sir Nicholas' deathday party, won't you? He does love it, the sentimental old wisp, when living guests turn up at his parties ... and odd as it may seem, if you do not come I shall have no one to talk to. Even the other spirits avoid me. I can't imagine why."

Drat. She was going to have to miss the Hallowe'en feast, and cook up an excuse for her brothers as to why she wouldn't be there. Oh, well ... a deal was a deal, and no one crossed the Baron.

* * *

It had taken him a while, but Harry Potter finally began to realise that as a Gryffindor he was prone to making rash decisions, and really should work on _thinking_ before _acting._ His agreement to come to the "five-hundredth deathday party" instead of the wonderful Hallowe'en celebration was merely the latest example. It was a ghastly affair. The conference room in the dungeons was often used by Slytherins, which should have been a red flag. It was deathly cold (pun intended) due to all the ghosts being gathered in one place, the food was mouldy and rotting, the orchestra's music resembled nails on a chalkboard, and ultimately Weasley and Hermione only came along out of loyalty to Harry ... as Weasley had been keen to remind him _several_ times before they left the tower. He'd finally been silenced by a bossy and highly unexpected outburst from Hermione about how there was more to life than following Harry Potter, like jobs and future prospects and the like, and if Weasley really didn't want to go he should just be honest and say so. When he rudely rejected this bit of common sense, as he often did, her sneer of "he's a very nice boy, but he's not going to put your pants on for you, Ronald" sounded almost like Draco Malfoy.

Just the thought of the preening prat was enough to spoil what remained of his good mood as they milled awkwardly about the dance floor, meeting people who weren't even terribly interesting when alive and making small talk through violently chattering teeth. Even then, he thought first of his friends and tried to cheer them up.

"Look on the bright side," he told them as they neared the center of the room. "If it were any warmer in here the stench of that food would probably kill us, too."

"At least then we'd fit in," Weasley said, grinning. Hermione just folded her arms and turned away so they couldn't see her smiling as well. It seemed as if things might be looking up.

And then ...

 _"Gin?!"_

Harry and Hermione followed Weasley's bugging eyes to the other side of the blue-lit chamber, where his very own younger sister was standing quite casually next to the scariest ghost of all.

She looked shocked for a moment, but recovered herself quickly. She told the Baron, who was staring quite unpleasantly at them, that she'd be back soon and came over to greet them. Sort of. "What on earth are _you_ all doing here?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing!" Weasley blustered. "You skip the feast because you say you're not feeling well and then I find you here? My own sister, gabbing with ghosts! And the Bloody Baron of all people! What's got into you?!"

"Oh, honestly! What's he going to do, kill me?" she retorted. "He's not that bad, really!"

"Not that bad?! Ginny ... "

"My name is Ginevra! Not Ginny, and not Gin either."

Weasley gesticulated wildly, as he was prone to do during arguments. "What are you on about now? You've always been Ginny!"

She looked him squarely in the eye. The more upset he got, the calmer she seemed to become. "Well, not anymore. And honestly, Ron, this is why I didn't tell you I was coming here. Because you think you _own_ me just like Mum and Dad, and you would have tried to stop me and made a big, embarrassing scene. Just like you're doing now."

Weasley's face turned as red as his freckles. "You're coming with me this instant, I tell you!"

"Already trying to back out, are you, Ronald?" Hermione said sharply.

"This is none of your business, Hermione! One girl mouthing off at me is enough."

"And just what is _that_ supposed to mean?"

Potter could feel the ghosts all staring. Privately he wished he could sink through the floor just like them. At the sight of the Baron about to come over to them, he quickly seized control. "All of you, _quiet!_ I came here to support Sir Nick, not to argue! Nobody who doesn't like it here has to stay on my account. And nobody who doesn't want to leave has to leave, got it Ron? Now stop pestering your sister before you upset the Baron."

Weasley's mouth opened and closed again. "Well, thanks a lot, Harry!" he choked, and stormed out of the party.

Hermione remained. "I'm sorry. Sometimes he just drives me mad."

"Try growing up with him," Ginevra giggled. "And thank you, Harry. That was very nice of you."

"Don't mention it, Gin ... Ginevra," he corrected himself, still surprised by her ability to talk to him without squeaking like a mouse or rushing out of the room.

"I'm only staying a little while, really, so perhaps we can all leave together. For now I'd better get back to the Baron." She confidently returned to the gaunt spirit who was still waiting by the rotten _hors d'oeuvres_ and, despite his threatening appearance, had begun to look rather lonely.

Their time at the party was soon to end, however, as Peeves drove Moaning Myrtle out of the hall with his teasing before flying out in terror at the sight of Ginevra. Before Potter and Hermione could look further into this baffling incident, the Headless Hunt arrived and began playing a game of 'head-hockey' that none of the living guests had the stomach to watch. After a quick farewell to the Baron who looked a bit sorry to see her go, Ginevra accompanied them back from the dungeons, talking all the while about how the ghosts were "a strange lot" but not such bad company after all. They were almost to the Great Hall, hoping to catch the tail end of dessert, when Potter stopped in his tracks. He was clutching at the wall and leaning forward, with a faraway look in his eyes.

"Stomach bothering you, Harry?" Ginevra said worriedly.

" _Now_ you're getting sick?" Hermione added.

Potter wasn't hearing their voices, but another; the same evil, murderous voice that came to him during his detention with Lockhart.

 _"Rip ... tear ... kill, he sssays ... honourless ssscum ... "_

"Harry? Maybe we'd better get you back to the common room."

"Listen!" he cried, putting a finger to his lips. "Can't you hear it?"

 _"Ssso alone ... for ssso long ... only chance to hunt ... "_

It was growing fainter now. It seemed to have come up from below, which meant it must be moving upwards through the floors, but how? Was it some kind of ghost, like the ones he'd just spent the evening with? No matter; it was something evil and deadly, which of course meant he had to follow it and endanger himself. What other conclusion could he possibly draw?

"This way!" Potter called to the girls. He broke into a run up the stairs and past the hall, where the jabbering of merry voices from the feast made it impossible to hear anything, then away from the ground floor and up another marble staircase with Hermione clattering behind him and Ginevra following so stealthily he had to look around to make sure she was still with them.

"What are we doing up here?" Hermione demanded, breathing hard.

"Shh!" He strained his ears. From a great upward distance the voice came again, growing ever fainter:

 _"I sssmell blood ... mussst resssist ... mussst find the Dream Ssspeaker ... I SSSMELL BLOOD!"_

Potter was on the verge of panic. "It's going to kill someone!" he cried, and ignoring the girls, sprinted even faster in a hopeless attempt to keep up with the voice. They had raced around the entire floor when the boy finally came to a stop at the last deserted passage.

"Well, _that_ was invigorating," panted Ginevra. "Do this every night, Harry?"

"Twice on Sundays. Just ask Oliver Wood," he gasped distractedly.

Hermione had gasped too, but not for the same reason. _"Look!"_

Potter's stomach twisted again. She was pointing to something shiny on the wall and they followed it, coming to a stop between two windows where jagged foot-high words had been painted in red on the corridor, shining demonically in the torchlight.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED

ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE

Potter and the girls stood transfixed.

"Oh Merlin," Ginevra said. "Look _under_ the words."

Avoiding a large and suspicious puddle of water on the floor, they crept up for a closer look at the shadow hanging beneath. Mrs. Norris, Filch's despised cat, was suspended by her tail from a torch bracket. Her skeletal figure was stiff as a board, staring blankly, fur sticking out every which way.

Ginevra, a known cat-lover, cradled the body with shaking hands. "She's not breathing. Harry ... Hermione, get someone up here! Quickly!"

* * *

This turned out to be quite unnecessary. A distant rumble of steps and happy, well-fed voices from below told them the feast had just ended. Students poured into the passage from either end as they returned to their respective houses, but the noise quickly died when they saw the dreadful sight. A shrill, cold voice pierced through the quiet.

"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, mudbloods, one by one!"

It was Theodore Nott. He was pushing to the front of the crowd to get closer, his thin rabbity face alight with joy.

"What in Herpo's name has got into you, Theodore?" Draco Malfoy hissed in disgust, pulling him back.

"Don't you see, Malfoy? It's begun! The legend is real! Don't turn traitor now!"

Draco's head felt like it was spinning. It was too much to take in at once. The blood-red words, the Weasley girl holding the cat, the foul-smelling water on the floor ... their house-elves Dobby and Bitsy would have thrown a fit. The revelation that 'the Heir' was not a figment of his dream but real, and if that was real then all the rest of it might be real too, oh _Gods_ —and the clues in Hermione's notes, and ...

And the fact that if he hadn't learned what he did these last few months, he might have reacted exactly like Theodore.

Potter was watching. Weasley was watching from the crowd that had just left the Hall. Ginevra was watching as she held Mrs. Norris, and Hermione was watching him closest of all.

"You did this," Weasley hissed at him and Theodore as the teachers came rushing upstairs, no doubt hoping to divert suspicion from his friends.

"Careful, Weasley," Draco said in a low voice. Luna was suddenly at his side, her eyes cold and gray as moonstones.

Hermione stepped between the bristling Slytherins and Gryffindors. "Ron, we shouldn't throw accusations around until—"

"Whose side are you on anyway?" he snapped viciously. "It's always them! Every bloody time, it's the Slytherins!"

Argus Filch arrived on the scene, then Dumbledore and the other professors, and the whole scene dissolved into a blur of shapes and noises in his mind. He felt Luna's hand gently take his elbow to draw him back, to make room for the teachers. He nearly sagged against her.

 _Damage control ... how do we control something that can do damage like this? Oh, Luna ... I just hope you know what you're doing._


	9. How to Succeed in Other Peoples Business

_A/N: Happy belated Easter, if you're into that kind of thing. This chapter is where Dumbledore finally comes in. You will also_ _meet Bitsy, the Malfoys'_ other _house-elf who is so off the wall she makes Dobby look normal ... and will Draco finally get Hermione on his side? A quick shout-out to my reviewers and then we'll get right down to business._

* * *

Bartholomew Black: _Good points! I think Draco's talk with Hermione also illustrates how much he knows of magical Britain and how little he knows of Harry Potter's wealth. Then again Harry doesn't know the extent of it either, does he? Our protagonist assumes Harry is poorer than he is (which may be wrong) and that with his blessing Hermione can find more opportunities with pure-blood employers (which is right). I think it's true to his character that if he wants to protect someone he's at odds with, he'll do it in a roundabout way so as not to give them the satisfaction of knowing he cares. THAT would be the end of the world._

catzetier: _Many thanks! For a long time I was a bit worried that my summary wasn't any good, but I guess it all worked out. I have an audience and the motivation that comes with it; what more can a writer ask for?_

Sunset Whispers: _Theodore worries me a bit too. All of the Slytherins are students and none of them really understand what they're getting into with this 'Dark Lord' stuff; they're just following their prejudices or inclinations, as people tend to do. Keep in mind that while very few are beyond redemption, very few can be entirely trusted either..._

* * *

 **IX: How to Succeed in (Other People's) Business**

 _What._ Was he _doing_ in here?!

Draco couldn't have explained why he ended up following Dumbledore and Potter. No one demanded that he come along. The Slytherin thing, and the sane thing really, would have been to slip away and get back to the dungeons as soon as possible. Even Snape was giving him the evil eye.

Filch had gone half-mad over his pet when he arrived on the scene, threatening to kill Potter until Snape of all people held him back, and then the Headmaster was there. Draco was drawn with the rest of them into Lockhart's office where they could examine Mrs. Norris in better light and ever-faithful Luna drifted in with him. After Weasley's typically reckless accusation he was sure most of the school would suspect the Slytherins, and sadly they must be right in this case. Someone from his house, most likely a prefect, had the diary. They knew how to use it to open the Chamber, and had done so. The threat to the mudbloods was real. And as for the hunter ... Draco had some very pertinent clues about _that,_ too.

There was much he knew, even more he suspected, and nothing he could _say_ without betraying his house and putting his own family in jeopardy. Still, when he felt the Headmaster's cutting blue gaze fall momentarily on him, it was all he could do not to sing like a merman. He affected not to notice and instead examined his surroundings, which had expanded somewhat to accommodate the unusual number of people. It was his first time inside Lockhart's office, and he was not impressed. The place reeked of his cologne and the walls were adorned with at least twenty portraits of the professor himself, some of which had their hair in rollers and ducked out of sight as the guests entered. The man was madly in love with himself, not that Draco saw anything _wrong_ with that; it was a lifelong romance and reciprocation was guaranteed. Still, twenty portraits? Luna was looking from one picture to another, and after a glance over her shoulder to confirm she had Draco's attention, she lifted one of her shoulders higher than the other.

She was uncomfortable, that gesture told him. She didn't like it here.

He nodded almost imperceptibly and stood closer to her.

It was odd, seeing one of the most powerful wizards on earth poking and prodding a lifeless feline. The look of bug-eyed amazement frozen on Mrs. Norris' furry face only added to the absurdity. Snape looked like he might break out laughing any second, but valued his mystique too much to actually do so. Old McGonagall watched with a concerned yet confident expression as if to say, _watch the master at work._ Filch was sitting in the corner and weeping inconsolably. Weasley and Hermione just stayed out of the way where they belonged. Even Weasley's sister was there, holding the cat steady as Dumbledore worked, which hardly seemed necessary. Lockhart was easily the most annoying, darting about like a hummingbird suggesting maladies and cures that sounded made-up on the spot. Draco certainly had never heard of 'the Transmogrifian Torture' and he'd learned his Dark Arts from the best.

That put him in mind of his family friend and tutor Mr. Nott, and of his fanatical son. Theodore, he began to realise, was a liability. His hatred for muggleborns was extreme and he might be a dangerous influence on his classmates unless measures were taken to undermine him.

Dumbledore attempted a handful of spells, and Draco got a good look at his wand. It was made from a wood he didn't recognize and appeared extremely powerful. However, the cat's condition improved not one jot. Eventually he stood up. "She's not dead, Argus."

"Not dead?" Filch gasped, peeking through his fingers. "But ... she's so stiff, and frozen-like, and ... "

"She has been petrified. Though how, I cannot say."

Draco thought back to Hermione's notes. Her loyalty was not such that she would sneak into the Restricted Section for him (though he would work on that), so the information she'd been able to provide him with was wide-ranging but shallow. Though a few of the snake-like creatures she described resembled Sister, the power to petrify their victims was never mentioned. Unless the little mudblood was holding out on him ... but a sidelong glance at her confused expression told him otherwise.

"Ask _him!"_ shrieked Filch, and Draco felt a stab of fear before he realized the caretaker was pointing at Potter, not himself. "The manacles ... veritaserum ... make him talk!"

Ginevra protested. "That's barbaric! Is this a school or a prison?"

"He did it, I say! He did it all! He saw my Quikspell course ... he knows I'm a squib ... an act of pure-blood hatred is what it was ... they're all against me ... "

"Potter is a _half-_ blood!" Draco corrected the man angrily. This drew surprised glances from everyone in the room, who must have thought he was intentionally defending the brat. "And last I heard we pure-bloods in Slytherin were treating you quite respectfully, Mr. Filch!"

Filch snuffled and looked at his feet.

Dumbledore cleared his throat loudly to restore order. "No second-year student did this, Argus. It would take dark magic of the worst sort."

 _You crafty old liar,_ Draco thought. _The worst sort that you want your students to know about, you mean._

His godfather then intervened and began questioning Potter about his whereabouts that evening, asking the the sort of questions that Dumbledore should have been posing himself. Draco fought an urge to roll his eyes. Potter was a blundering show-off, not nearly clever enough to engineer something like this. Snape just wanted to make him squirm, and he was successful in that regard. It was clear the boy was hiding something, but Potter's friends stuck up for him and Snape seemed to run out of steam. Meanwhile Dumbledore was examining Potter even more intently than he had Draco. It was a strangely familiar searching look that made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Excuse me, Professor Dumbledore." It was Luna, speaking for the first time since she entered the room. "May I ask why you're using legilimency on Harry Potter without his permission?"

Time ground to a momentary halt. The room chilled. Draco and Hermione went rigid; Ginevra and Weasley looked at Luna open-mouthed, then at Dumbledore. The teachers looked startled while Snape was glaring fiercely, though at whom Draco couldn't possibly say. Harry was looking at Dumbledore in dismay but the Headmaster, not surprisingly, was looking at Luna. The kindly grandfather act was back, twinkle in his eye and all.

"Whatever might have given you that idea, my dear girl?" he said softly.

Luna smiled and waggled her finger at him. "You answered my question with another question. That's very political, sir. I can see why Minister Fudge is so afraid of you taking his job."

A dozen different silent alarms blared in Draco's head. Did this girl have no filter whatsoever?! Actually he'd begun to think she did have one of sorts, that she used at certain times. But if so, what _ever_ made her think this should not be one of those times?

The air around Dumbledore was growing slightly more charged; Luna must have felt it immediately. Her shoulders went uneven again. Without really thinking, Draco stepped up next to her with as neutral an expression as he could muster. He was astonished when Ginevra did the same, standing on Luna's other side. It was a moment, he was sure, that would endure in his memory until the day he died. So much for his hopes of keeping a low profile as this whole disaster unfolded.

The Headmaster's silence suggested he was confused, perhaps surprised, about students from opposing houses standing together. He must be itching to use legilimency on each of them—Draco certainly would, in his position—but he couldn't, because everybody was watching him now.

"I'm sorry, Professor," Ginevra said uncomfortably. "You know my family has always supported you, but ... "

Hermione spoke up, sounding slightly more confident since she was farther away. "I'm sure you don't mean to, but still it's not really the sort of thing a teacher should do without asking ... sir."

"So what if it isn't?!" Weasley protested from the back of the room. He was so afraid for his sister that he'd gone as stiff as Mrs. Norris. Draco could see his knees shaking. "It doesn't hurt anybody! Why not use it on Malfoy while we're at it? Who would do something like this besides a Slytherin, anyway?!"

For some time Draco had wondered if it were possible for him to dislike this boor any more than he did already. Mystery solved.

"That will be _quite_ enough, Mr. Weasley," Snape said menacingly, causing the boy to back up until he hit the office door.

"Professor?" Harry sounded uncertain, and more than a little hurt.

The Headmaster's facade of serenity was replaced seamlessly with one of aged weariness. He took a deep breath that resembled a yawn. "I believe we are all very confused, and upset, by the events of this evening. It is an all too human tendency to make accusations before we have all the facts. Perhaps at a later time, when we are rested, we will see things more clearly. Mr. Filch, I assure you we shall continue to investigate until we find those responsible."

Draco ignored dirty looks from Potter and Weasley and a questioning look from Hermione as he left the office. The Hallowe'en dinner he had eaten sat like a stone in his gut. Unlike some children who seemed to learn nothing unless they were smacked in the face with it, Draco learned plenty from that meeting: Potter was being used and wasn't smart enough to know it, Snape was acting as the Headmaster's hatchet man and might not be trustworthy ... and Albus Dumbledore himself was every bit as underhanded and meddlesome as his father had always warned him.

"Luna, what were you thinking?" he chided her as they hurried downstairs. "You can't just challenge Dumbledore like that."

"Is that what I was doing?"

"I know that's how Dumbledore and the other professors are likely to see it. The Gryffindors, too."

She tugged at his sleeve, stopping him outside the common room door. "Then I suppose it's just as well that I don't care what they think. I care about you, and myself, and our parents. I know what wandless legilimency looks like because I've seen my father use it during interviews. Sometimes it's a good way to get information a person isn't comfortable saying out loud. But you should always tell them first."

"But why blurt it out in front of everyone like that?"

"Because Potter had a right to know what Dumbledore was doing."

He looked at her dubiously.

"And because our enemies are less powerful when they don't trust each other," Luna said patiently.

That made Draco smile. "Well ... yes, there is that. I'm doing much the same thing with the precious Golden Trio. They're hopeless without their pet muggleborn. If I can get her on our side, they won't stand a chance of tracking down the Heir ... at least not before we do. Which reminds me: we need to compare notes about that prat. Meet me in the kitchens tomorrow at breakfast. We can't trust the common room anymore, and we should sleep in our own dorms again as well. This place will be astir like a broken hive. Can't be too careful."

"Very well, Malfoy." She stepped up to the door and announced the password. _"Fomorian."_

Draco wasn't surprised to see most of his housemates still awake and waiting for him. Even the prefects were here, except for Meakin and Perriss who must have been on patrol duty. Sixth and seventh-years who'd hardly given him a second glance before were now a captive audience. Scattered throughout the group were students whose parents or relatives had been followers of Voldemort. Some no doubt wished to be Death Eaters themselves one day, if the opportunity came. It was a situation full of potential, but also full of danger.

Richard Selwyn was the first to speak. His complexion was as dark as Blaise's, and as the room was very dim, Draco's impression was that of two passionate eyes and a mouthful of shining teeth simply appearing in the shadows. "Malfoy ... you were there. You were one of the first to see this glorious thing! Tell us what happened!"

"Is it true?" Graham Montague sounded more unnerved than excited. "About the Chamber of Secrets?"

Theodore spoke up. "And the Heir of Slytherin? I saw you wormed your way into Dumbledore's office ... what did they say? What should we do?"

"Come on, Malfoy, Lovegood," Hestia Carrow urged them gently. "Tell us!"

Frye sat beside her, hand poised over his notepad.

Draco found himself at an impasse. Several of his peers looked somewhat resigned, as if they already knew what he was going to say: more of what he'd already been saying ever since first year. That this was a good thing. That now was the time to reclaim their former glory ... for the school to be purified ... for everyone to watch and wait as the enemies of Slytherin fell one by one. Those were the words he thought his father, and Mr. Nott, and other allies of the Malfoys would want him to say. But now that his best friend was a girl who cared more about crumple-horned snorkacks than blood purity, and he'd just offered his protection to Hermione, _and_ he had already committed himself to a master plan that involved zero mudblood casualties ...

Those words were going to ring just a tad hollow.

In his heart he was already a blood traitor. Once you identified with them in any way, or started fraternizing with them, there was no going back. That was what scared him the most, becoming the very thing he hated. But the thought of such a rebellion was also intoxicating. So what if it flew directly in the face of his family's legacy? He was at the top of the pure-blood food chain and he held his parents' futures in the palm of his hand—not intentionally, but that was what it all came down to. The future of Slytherin was his to mold. Who was going to punish him?

An answer flickered within his memories: a possessed, emaciated face drooling silver blood. If that unicorn-killing freak ever regained a body and a power all his own, any hint of disloyalty on the Malfoys' part was sure to incur his wrath. Draco was beginning to wish he'd stayed in bed this morning.

For now he chose to play it safe, and trivialize the incident without revealing how much he really knew.

"All of you, get a hold of yourselves," he said lightly. "It's going to take more than red paint on the wall and an old cat with arthritis to convince me that our so-called Chamber even exists. And really, the Heir of Slytherin? How many times have we heard _that_ one? For all we know this is no more than a Gryffindor ploy to distract us. Don't forget, we still have a thirty-seven-point lead over them."

"And if you ask me," Luna added, misleading them without actually lying, "it's most curious that Harry Potter and his friends were the first ones on the scene. Who's to say they didn't set the scene as well? As our own Head of House said, they never joined the rest of us at the feast."

Draco nodded. "Which, for your information, was about all they discussed in Dumbledore's office: what happened, and what did Potter have to do with it? I had the privilege of watching Professor Snape interrogate him personally. He lied through his teeth the whole time, I'm sure; dreadful hypocrites, those lions. But whatever foolishness is going on here, our Professor is sure to get to the bottom of it. Until then, I recommend we all stay in the shadows where we are best suited, and go about our business of being the finest house at Hogwarts."

There was a sense of everyone in the room letting their breath out at once. The Carrows and a good many of the younger snakes looked relieved. The third and fourth-years muttered angrily to each other about just how low Gryffindor could sink. Gemma and Sykes were deep in thought. Grimmett was smirking as though the whole thing was a joke. For a moment Selwyn looked like someone had just yanked all of his short hairs out, but he recovered gracefully.

"A valid point, Malfoy," he conceded. "Your father would be proud of your cleverness."

"But the mudbloods—" Theodore began to protest, but one look from Selwyn silenced him instantly.

Blaise looked impatient. "Really, Nott, enough about them already. You're worse than Pansy here."

"Malfoy and I can't stand them either," Pansy said. "But have a little faith in the system, will you? The useful ones will serve us, and as for the rest of them, they'll come to a sticky end whether we get involved or not."

This seemed to cheer Theodore much more than she expected. He shrugged his bony shoulders and looked at the fire. "I dare say you're right, Pansy."

"I'm always right."

"Modest as well," Draco smiled. "We should spend less time bandying rumors and more time thinking about how to prove our superiority. I'm sure Professor Snape would agree, not to mention my father. Go on now, off with you."

There was laughter, and the crowd soon dissipated into many separate conversations.

* * *

Frye Harper, as usual, was hard at work. That it was nearly midnight on a Saturday did not deter him. Though he was tall for his age and his somewhat bushy sand-coloured hair made him look rather professional, his energy was the first thing his classmates noticed. He was like a little boy bursting with excitement and life in a world he was still discovering; even his housemates in first year, all girls, treated him like their younger brother. He wasn't all sweetness and light, however, and writing tended to be an outlet for his caustic wit and withering skepticism. Though he was a half-blood who grew up suspended rather awkwardly between the muggle and magical worlds, the boy proved to be a quick study and consistently earned points for his house, but he still had much to learn and needed help from his older classmates to keep the newsletter scrawling along.

Fortunately, one of many things on which Slytherins prided themselves was taking care of each other. Since the first-year boy's dormitory was so seldom used even by Frye himself, his friends had converted it to a makeshift newsroom. The beds had all been moved to one end to make room for a magically secured filing cabinet, old office-style chairs rescued from the garbage by Filch, and a massive writing desk donated by Millicent Bullstrode's father with drawers and cabinets on all four sides. It was here that Frye met with Daphne, Terence, Sykes, and Grimmett to compare notes, pitch ideas, and write.

His style had not changed since 'A View From the Ground'; he was not afraid to criticise his own house as well as the others and took a dim view of the black-and-white, light versus dark, Slytherin vs. everyone else thought patterns that prevailed at Hogwarts. Still more alarming was the fact that Professor Dumbledore seemed to encourage this, as did Professor Snape with his "Slytherin against the world" speeches at the weekly meetings. Not that Frye didn't desire success; it was his dream to become a famous reporter like his father and great-uncle before him. But in achieving this dream, he wanted to elevate the standards of integrity and professionalism in wizard journalism.

 _Our house values ambition above all else ... but ambition without a constructive goal,_ he wrote in a late September editorial, _is just winning for the sake of winning. It's a hollow pursuit. It will get your name out there but it won't make you happy. And if you can't look back at the end and feel satisfied with your accomplishment, what's the point?_

Sykes cleared her throat and got the ball rolling. "Well, team, it's safe to say we won't be getting much sleep tonight. We have a new top story for this issue and only twelve hours to get it written, sourced, and edited before we send it off to Mr. Lovegood."

"Why must the big stories always happen at the end of the week?" Daphne said, pouting.

"To keep us on our toes," Frye said with a shrug. "So, what's our angle? Potter in trouble? I'd say this is a nice chance to really give him what-for."

"Potter is always in trouble. If he wasn't, now that would be a story. 'Potter Not in Trouble Last Week'," Grimmett quipped. He looked over the gruesome photos of Mrs. Norris hanging by her tail and the words on the wall. They had somehow been snapped in the chaos by Colin Creevey. "Damn, Frye. How did you ever get these?"

Frye reclined in his chair, proud as a peacock. "I cut a deal with him before the crowd even broke up. He developed them before curfew and charged me a whole galleon, but it was worth it. Put one of these shots on the front page and everybody at Hogwarts will grab a copy."

"Filch won't like that, Frye," Sykes said uncertainly. "I know everyone hates Mrs. Norris, but suppose she were your cat. Would you want a pic of her petrified body being circulated all over school?"

Frye shrugged and took a gulp of tea. "If she was my cat, no. But as it happens, she's not."

Fourth-year Terence Higgs, a former seeker who could always be counted on to find an opening, chimed in. "Perhaps there's a way to publish these without getting on Filch's bad side."

"We're all ears."

"Make it sympathetic. Human interest. Go to Filch first thing in the morning with one of our nicest people to ask for his permission, get some quotes from him about how awful it is. Daphne, you'd be perfect for that."

"Why me?" she said, looking up from her compact mirror. "I can't stand Filch."

"Yeah, but you know how to hide it. You're not pushy or intimidating, you're with the second-year crowd that cut a deal with Filch once before, and ... well, if you don't mind me saying so, you're very pretty as well. If you go with Frye, there's no way he'd refuse us."

Daphne rewarded him with a smile that could have melted a glacier. "Why, thank you, Terence. I had no idea you felt that way."

Higgs suddenly found something interesting on the emerald rug. "Oh, well ... you know ... just saying, really ... no need to thank me."

"That's enough, lovebirds," Sykes smiled. "Back to work. Frye, Greengrass, I'll go straight to Snape and have him get you that appointment with Filch. For now, we should put a rough draft of this thing on parchment straightaway."

Without another word, she rushed out of the room.

"Right! Back to our angle then." Frye took control, which was unusual for such a young boy, but his height and his natural confidence helped. "Slytherin, the only house with the scoop on what happened in the Headmaster's office! Thank Herpo for Malfoy and Lovegood, eh? But I should put some _oomph_ into it, too. The other houses will be targeting us. We need to send a message that we're not going to take it lying down."

Grimmett nodded firmly. "I agree. We need a counter-punch and we need it badly."

"Well," Daphne murmured, displaying her notebook with the sort of false calm that always precluded a bombshell. "I tried to squeeze a little more out of Malfoy before he went to bed—in his dorm, for a change—and he told me that Luna called out Dumbledore for _using legilimency on Potter ..."_

 _"What?!"_ Frye shouted amid similar exclamations from the others.

Daphne's face fell. " ... But he made me promise we wouldn't use his name. He doesn't want the old man targeting him or Luna. We have to quote him anonymously. He said that way it could just as easily be a leak from a Gryffindor, Filch, or Professor Snape. Dumbledore won't know who to go after."

"If we claim anonymous sources it'll sound like we're making it up," Frye said glumly, but he was already putting quill to paper. "But it's a good bit anyway, and I don't blame Malfoy for wanting to protect himself. And Luna, I suppose."

"They _are_ rather close these days, aren't they?" Daphne giggled.

Frye was in no mood for gossip. "Yeah, and so is our deadline. Gather round, you lot; this is our biggest story yet and I'm starting it now."

* * *

"I'm knackered," were the first words out of Draco's mouth when he joined Luna the next morning.

"Best get some tea in you then," Luna replied, speaking a bit louder than usual over the noise of the kitchens. She went straight to the teapot and poured. "What disturbed your sleep this time? Has the dream returned?"

Draco shook his head and accepted the cup. Truthfully he'd found it much harder to drift off without her there, but he wasn't about to admit it. "Just had a lot on my mind."

He produced Hermione's notes from his robe and slid them across the table. Luna skimmed over them. "A busy little person, isn't she?"

"Quite," he chuckled, but something in her tone gave him pause. "You're not very fond of her, I gather."

Luna frowned thoughtfully. "I'm like the nargles, Malfoy. I can be close with anybody, if they have something I want. Are these notes from one of her classes? I do hope you pinched them carefully."

"Not exactly. I simply approached her and ... _persuaded_ her to research every magical creature resembling the one in my dream."

She tilted her head back. Her voice gave nothing away, but she radiated displeasure like the steam from their teacups.

"Did you now," she said levelly. "And you thought that was wise?"

"Er ... I didn't think you would mind."

"Didn't think I would mind you sharing sensitive information with a Gryffindor? For all we know, she's figured out Slytherin's monster for herself."

"She doesn't even know there _is_ a monster! Relax, Luna. She's so narrow-minded she won't see anything beyond the task I assigned her. That's why I chose her."

"When you could have fetched one of your house-elves and had them look through your family's library instead."

Draco sighed irritably. This was beginning to remind him of the arguments he'd overheard between his parents. "Ask a house-elf to do _academic research?_ I think you have an exaggerated idea of their usefulness. Allow me to demonstrate. _Bitsy!"_

Seconds passed. Three. Five. Ten.

"See what I mean? _Oi, Bitsy!_ Get in here, you useless little—"

There was a _pop_ of displaced air as a small, surprisingly young female house elf with dun-coloured skin apparated directly into the kitchens. She had noticeably shorter ears and smaller eyes than her colleague Dobby, but her appearance lent an undeniable strangeness to the proceedings, not least because she was _clinging to the back of Draco's head_ and covering his eyes with her hands.

"Peek-a-eek-a-shriek-a-boo, Little Master!" she sang out in a high, gleeful voice.

"Off the hair! _Off the hair!"_ Draco bellowed, spinning around like a top as he struggled to dislodge the creature. His arm swiped blindly across the tabletop and sent the tea set flying. Luna gracefully ducked behind the other side of the table, looking on with bemused interest as an age-old struggle for dominance between adolescent wizard and deranged elf unfolded before her. It wasn't like the literally explosive battles she had witnessed between rival erumpents during their mating season, but it held its own fascination.

"Wheeeeeee! Master is making Bitsy so dizzy! Dizzy Bitsy, dizzy Bitsy!"

"Fired Bitsy when I get through with you!" howled the raging blond. Finally he got a good grip and hurled the elf across the room, where she landed in a cistern-sized sink full of dirty dishes. "I'll give you _clothes_ for this, you demented little charity case! Then I'll drop a whole wardrobe on your head for good measure! You're through!"

Bitsy sprang quite unharmed from the filthy water, laughing and sputtering. "Little Master is never being able to get Bitsy fired! He is trying to fire her a hundred times and fails!"

"Why is that?" Luna asked politely.

The sopping wet elf stood on her head and balanced upside-down, "hopping" from one hand to the other as she broke into a singsong explanation. "Bit-sy-saves-the-La-dy's-life-and-has-a-job-for-EV-ER ... la-la-la, la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la, la-LAAAA!"

"We'll just see about that! And furthermore ... " Draco paused as he got a good look at Bitsy for the first time. "Are you wearing one of my mother's good tea-towels?!"

Bitsy folded her arms defiantly and sniffed as dozens of her Hogwarts brethren looked on in horror from behind stoves and counters. "Good Mistress Malfoy is throwing it away. Bitsy finds. It is now being her good tea-towel!"

"You'll bloody well take the rags we _give_ you and like it!" Draco whirled on Luna and gestured violently to his servant. "Allow me to introduce the worst house-elf in the history of magic! A menace with the mop and a calamity in the kitchen. And the reason why you don't send an elf to do a muggleborn's job!"

"Mudbloods? Where?!" Bitsy snatched a rolling pin from a nearby counter and leapt between the two children and the door. "Get behind Bitsy! She is protecting her masters."

"Oh, put that down. They're not dangerous, just irritating. Something _you_ would know all about."

"Something Little Master is also knowing all about!" she shot back. "Even as a baby he is irritating Bitsy, soiling his new nappies right after she is changing him. What is Little Master needing of poor, unappreciated, nappy-changing Bitsy?"

Seeing Draco was too mortified to respond at the moment, Luna kept a straight face and looked down at the little creature. "I believe Malfoy has brought you here so that I could meet a house-elf for the first time. I am Luna Lovegood, a friend of his. It's quite a pleasure to meet you, Miss Bitsy."

The elf at first looked rather put out by her unusual appearance, but was so honoured by the title that she practically glowed. "Miss, she says! _Miss!_ Oh, Bitsy is liking Little Master's friend Loonytunes very much. Never does Master or Mistress call Bitsy such a name!"

"You," Draco wheezed, so beside himself he could barely speak. "Back ... to the Manor ... now."

"Bitsy thanks Little Master for introducing her to his Loonytunes. She is now going back to Master's Manor to finish cleaning Master's toilet in master bedroom."

With a pop, she was gone.

"She was nice ... but I see what you mean now, Malfoy," Luna said. "Is it true that she saved your mother's life once?"

Draco fussed and fumed over his hair using an overturned pan for a mirror. "I don't want to talk about it."

She gazed off into space for a moment. "Perhaps daddy should have kept a house-elf," she said, more to herself than to Draco.

"He can have that one, as far as I'm concerned. I meant it when I said she was a charity case. She's utterly mad. Couldn't get a job anywhere else. And she's a bad influence on Dobby to boot; who else could have put all those ridiculous ideas in his head? Once I overheard him muttering to himself about wanting _wages!_ A house-elf griping about money, can you imagine?! It was only out of the goodness of my heart that I never mentioned it to mother and father, I can tell you. Who knows what he's up to these days ... well, if you've finished with breakfast, I do believe we've talked enough about elves for today. After you."

He pulled open the kitchen door.

Luna smiled. "Thank you."

"I'll catch up with you later, if you don't mind; I have to go track down ... er ... someone."

"Granger," she said flatly. "Are you sure I shouldn't come along?"

"That would be counterproductive. She doesn't like you any more than you like her. I'll keep her under control, I promise."

Luna nodded slowly. "See that you do. The circle grows wider with every person you tell. Daddy and I can only do so much to protect you."

Draco watched her go. Though he wasn't quite willing to admit it, Luna did have a point about Hermione. The Gryffindor had not connected the events of last night with his request, at least not yet; thank Circe for that, or she might have solved the mystery all by herself and gone straight to Dumbledore, who would then find the book and use it to destroy the Malfoys without a second thought. It was only a matter of time before the little know-it-all connected the dots. He would have to keep a close eye on her so he could head her off if she got too close to the truth. That would be a much easier task if she began to trust him, even just a little.

He tried the library and found a bunch of third-year Ravenclaws in the middle of transfiguration trivia, but no Hermione. Then he tried the Great Hall; no luck there either. He skulked around the corridors as close to Gryffindor Tower as he dared, and saw a relatively friendly face in Colin Creevey, who said Hermione had only just left their common room to go straight to ... of course ... the library. Draco was somewhat out of breath when he returned there, and took a moment to compose himself before approaching her.

Most encouragingly, he found her poring over an old book about pure-blood history. In fact it was _The Pure-Blood Directory_ by Cantankerous Nott, Theodore's great-grandfather. She looked up at him with a civil expression. "Malfoy."

"Hermione. I'm surprised to see you here without your friends. Aren't you all joined at the hip?"

"Ron is still upset with me. Since we found Mrs. Norris, I mean."

Was she actually dropping her guard a little? He waited for a punchline, or "and it's all your fault," but nothing came. Tentatively, he sat down and slithered into the opening she had left him.

"Weasley has a coarse temperament and he despises Slytherins. Perhaps he felt betrayed when you took a more neutral stance." He looked up at her intently. "I appreciate that. It's good to know _someone_ around here can keep a clear head in a crisis."

Hermione seemed pleased by the compliment. "I'm not saying you weren't involved, mind you ... just that the wizard who did this isn't necessarily one of you."

He managed to smirk at her without scowling. "And this, Weasley cannot bear."

She sighed and shook her head. "But it's more than that. He's been going around telling everyone about it and now some of my own housemates look at Ginevra and I like we're traitors. It's ridiculous! He goes on and on about how you can never trust a Malfoy. About all the terrible things your family's done ... I don't know if half of them were true."

 _Ahhh, she's fishing. Clever girl,_ he said to himself.

Draco shrugged. "We've been blessed with a long and distinguished history." He paused as though he were going to say more, but then went silent.

Hermione chafed with impatience. "Perhaps a few examples would help illustrate your point? I've been trying to get through this book, but it's practically useless."

"Why the sudden interest?"

"Why your sudden interest in _me?_ If you want to know my business, it's only right that I should know yours. You said we were associates, didn't you?"

That rankled him. He almost snapped at her. Trading information implied they were equals, which they absolutely were not. Still ... it wasn't the girl's fault she hadn't been brought up to know his ways, and her curiosity about his family was a good sign.

"That remains to be seen," he said patiently. "The 'official' history of my family takes only a few minutes to tell and likely doesn't go much further than what's in that book. I take it you are interested in a more ... detailed version?"

She nodded.

"Then you're in luck. For, unlike our dear Headmaster, I am willing to trust a Gryffindor."

"He trusts us!" Hermione protested. But she winced after she said it, knowing what he was going to say and that it was going to hurt.

"Why does he keep his students in the dark so much, then?"

"Well ... that's—"

"Why did he pry into your best friend's mind without asking?"

"I ... " She bit her lip and looked down at the table. "I don't know."

"My point is, I don't go around deceiving my friends. Just my enemies. If you want the whole truth from me—about my family, the history of Hogwarts, and magical society in general—I'll give it to you. All I need in return is your loyalty."

Her eyes studied him warily beneath her hair. It made him think of a small animal peering out from a bush, contemplating whether or not to scurry out and grab the tantalizing bait he'd put out for her. "Meaning what?"

"Meaning you become an adjutant of the Malfoys." He held up a hand to cut her off, anticipating her objections. "Not a friend; you don't have to like me. Not a servant; we have plenty of those, incompetent though they are. Not a spy; I don't expect you to betray your friends or your beliefs. An adjutant is just what I described the last time we talked: a muggleborn who provides useful services for a pure-blood family in return for money, education, or protection. Sometimes all three."

"Define useful services."

"In our case, research. Errands. Administration. Things like that. A wizard's oath is standard practise, so that the adjutant won't betray sensitive information and the family can't use them improperly. Accept my offer and no Slytherin will ever hex you again. They won't attack you, they won't bother you, and they won't call you names. If they do they'll answer to the Malfoys. And that, I assure you, is a position none of them wants to be in. You need not associate with us in public if you don't want to, but if you choose, you may walk among us without fear."

 _Also,_ he did not say, _you are a loose end that I need to tie up as soon as possible, and some of my friends must learn that mudbloods are in fact human or I fear for the future of my house._

She was sorely tempted now. Leaning forward, eyes locked on him, hanging on his every word. "Why me?"

"Because you're the best student in our year, you keep your word ... and being as close to Potter and Weasley as you are, you need it more than others. Just between us, I hear they are prone to getting in trouble."

"No comment," Hermione said, trying to conceal a smile. Her expression turned sour again as she thought of something else. "I would have to call you _Lord Malfoy,_ I suppose?"

He shrugged. "Also standard practise. But I'll try not to be a prat about it."

"If money is involved, I'll expect a contract as well."

"A headache, but ... if you insist."

Draco stood and held out his hand across the table. She stood as well, but hesitated.

"A year ago, Hermione, I met your friends on the train and offered my hand. Potter didn't take it, and Weasley ... was Weasley. By turning me down, they rejected knowledge and alliances that could have saved them a great deal of trouble. You don't have to make the same mistake."

Hermione took a breath and gathered her thoughts. Then, she reached out and shook Draco's hand.


	10. The Comeback

_A/N: Over 60,000 words already? I have NO idea where all of this is coming from. It's probably the longest fanfic I've written in ten years. Thank you all so much for reviewing and following this the way you have. Get ready, because at last it's time to play some Quidditch! But first we'll see the aftermath of the cat-petrifying incident and a pivotal moment with Ginevra._

* * *

Dressyone22: _I've been building up to Draco and Hermione's handshake since Chapter 4; I just didn't know it! Let's see if he really can keep his adjutant safe with a basilisk loose in the halls._

guest #4 (ch.9): _I think Ginevra having the diary torn away from her early will have a profound effect on how her character develops. She will continue to follow the advice that Tom and the Baron gave her, and there's no telling where it might lead her._

Bartholomew Black: _Politics is Draco's bread and butter, and if he can stop the Heir without getting his own hands dirty he certainly will. That should make for an interesting contrast to how Harry and his friends in Gryffindor handled things._

Sunset Whispers: _Yes, we will be seeing more of Bitsy! I haven't decided where or when, so stay on your toes. ;)_

KnowInsight: _Thanks! I have plans within plans for where this AU could eventually lead._

Ankaa Sage: _Thank you! I'm flattered. As it stands, this is one of my most popular stories after 13 years on the site, so I'm sure not complaining._

* * *

 **X: The Comeback**

 _"I demand a mudblood, and you bring me a mongrel cat,"_ growled a voice that made the steamy air of the prefects' bathroom blow cold. _"This ... is your idea of an acceptable sacrifice?"_

He squeezed his eyes shut and looked away from the craggy face in shame. "Of course not, sir. I apologise. We intended to open the Chamber as the students were returning from their feast. However, we acted too early. I accept full responsibility for—"

 _"The responsibility is yours whether you accept it or not. You had a prime opportunity to eliminate dozens of these filth in one fell swoop. An opportunity you wasted."_

"Mercy, please," the prefect whimpered. He leaned out over the side of the ornate bathtub with his fingers trembling around the mirror. "You know that the beast has a mind of her own, and the hunt did not begin as planned. We have a new host, a different assistant than I had anticipated. It took a great deal of work just to proceed on schedule ... "

 _"You will choke on those excuses,"_ the voice promised. _"And the punishment I inflict will be nothing at all next to what the Dark Lord would do to you. You should thank me."_

"Yes, sir," Selwyn said, his voice a despairing croak. "Th-thank you. But I shall not fail next time. We will have a fitting victim. I swear it."

He looked down at the mirror again. The magical reflection had gone, and he dropped it beside the rim of the bath.

All his efforts seemed to be in vain. No matter how he scrubbed or how many hours he spent here he would never, ever get clean.

* * *

The Monday, November 2nd issue of the Slytherin Scrawl had cut especially close to its deadline. It was finally sent off to Mr. Lovegood close to noon the previous day. However, this allowed the controversial newsletter to make an especially grand entrance at breakfast. Dozens of owls stormed the Great Hall all at once bearing bundles of copies, dropping them in the middle of every table and loudly demanding bacon. If nothing else it helped to wake up many students who were still drowsy, but many chose to read the copies as well; the lurid black-and-white photo of the vandalised wall and Mrs. Norris' dangling form was as enticing as Frye predicted, and his accompanying front-page story/editorial (or 'slythertorial' as the Gryffindors began calling them) was a worthy match.

 _Guilt By Vague Association?_

 _'Innocent Cat' Stricken; Indelible Vandalism & Alleged Legilimency Follow Hallowe'en Feast_

 _by Frye Harper & Alexandra Sykes_

 _Running, scrambling breathless to and from the newsroom. No sleep. No energy. No time. Just sheer desperation. "You can't write a brand new front-page story in just twelve hours," they said. And they were right: you can't, at least not with your sanity intact._

 _Fortunately that's not a problem for the Harper family's only Slytherin. He's damaged goods, you see. No longer a chip off the old block but a pebble in your shoe. Hurts, doesn't it? You want to take off that shoe and shake the pebble out. But bear with me a while longer. We still have a ways to go, you and I, in this blind journey towards understanding._

 _Getting this story written was a mad dash into the impossible. It almost didn't happen. Just a few less hours to work with probably would have killed it. Only the help of my fellow reporters, helpful sources, and the literal support of Daphne Greengrass (who half-carried me back to the dorm to finish the final draft) made it possible. Thank you, Greengrass. Will you marry me?_

 _But seriously: as you might have guessed from our front-page photo we have a big problem here. Shortly after 9 P.M. on Hallowe'en night, Hogwarts students emerged from a delicious holiday feast to this gruesome sight. Boy celebrity Harry Potter (Gryffindor, 2nd year) and a few of his friends (identities disputed) were the first students on the scene. Courageous feline Mrs. Norris was found petrified thanks to unidentified dark magic, and a lot of people want answers._

 _"She was the only friend I had in this bloody place," caretaker Filch told this reporter Sunday morning. "The only one who understood, and now she's petrified, maybe forever! How could that Harry Potter have done this to her?!" The normally stoic man sobbed into his hands, not knowing when or if his beloved familiar would ever jump into his lap again._

 _Argus Filch wants answers._

 _"I questioned the Potter boy directly and at length," our Head of House Professor Snape reported tersely to prefect Alexandra Sykes (Slytherin, 6th year) on the night of the incident. "He was continuously vague and evasive concerning his reasons for not appearing at the Hallowe'en feast, as well as being found directly at the scene of the crime."_

 _Severus Snape wants answers._

 _"This office chooses neither to comment nor to speculate on the events directly following the Hallowe'en feast until a faculty investigation has been completed," Headmaster Dumbledore said to the assembled houses at breakfast on Sunday. An anonymous source reported that in the course of this investigation, the professor was observed using legilimency on the twelve-year-old Potter without his knowledge or consent._

 _Albus Dumbledore apparently wants answers more than anyone else._

 _As their most popular student is unable or unwilling to give those answers—about the state of poor Mrs. Norris, the red words on the wall that no one has been able to remove, or why he was lurking near the second-floor girl's lavatory instead of dining with his fellow students—some Gryffindors are trying to change the questions. Defensively, they point the finger at us with the familiar refrain, "what about Slytherin? Surely those evil reptiles must have had something to do with it!" The Heir named in the message, they claim, must be some important figure within our house which boasts several heirs (and heiresses) of wealthy families._

 _But who or what is the Heir? Who or what are his "enemies?" Apparently the vandal didn't have enough time (or room) to jot down those details, so we are all left to speculate._

 _"As a prefect, I believe Harry Potter to be innocent of all wrongdoing and I resent any insinuations to the contrary," said prefect Percy Weasley (Gryffindor, 6th year) when questioned by our brilliant photographer Colin Creevey (Gryffindor, 1st year). "It stands to reason that any 'heir' mentioned in the same breath as the Chamber of Secrets would be the rumoured heir of Salazar Slytherin. No, I don't know any details beyond that, so please stop asking and put that camera away before I confiscate it!"_

 _It is understandable that Mr. Weasley would want to protect a friend of his family. But his suspicions of Slytherin involvement, like all others, are utterly bereft of hard evidence. On the night of the incident every Slytherin student (excepting some of our prefects, who were on duty at the time) was present and accounted for. None of us behaved suspiciously. None of us ran and hid. Two of our more distinguished young students, Draco Malfoy (2nd year) and Luna Lovegood (1st year), were so confident in Slytherin's innocence that they voluntarily joined the Hogwarts faculty in Professor Lockhart's office to learn more about what happened. Do these sound like the actions of cold-blooded, feline-hating vandals?_

 _It's said that Slytherin is the most untrustworthy and closed-minded house at Hogwarts. Why, then, does it seem we are the only ones giving straight answers and not jumping to conclusions? The few pupils who don't suspect us seem to assume it was all Potter. But my investigations tell me that the BWL is as unlikely to be responsible as any of us for one simple reason: ability. Potter simply isn't as good as many people think._

 _"Unlike many students from the other houses, we actually know what we're talking about when it comes to the Dark Arts," declared Bridget Holness (Slytherin, 7th year), who has an OWL in Defence and is now in hot pursuit of a NEWT. "And though he may be an insufferable show-off, to cast a petrification curse on a defenceless cat would be quite beyond the abilities of any student here, let alone one in his second year of education."_

 _Until the real facts come out, I propose a truce with Gryffindor: if they'll stop accusing us, we'll stop accusing them, and allow any ill will over this incident to be settled at our Quidditch game later this month. The greater issue is student safety. Last year we might have had Voldemort's host teaching our children. This year it's another dark wizard prowling the corridors. I think the words of duelling prodigy Pansy Parkinson (Slytherin, 2nd year) say it best:_

 _"I don't know how anyone in their right mind can say Hogwarts is still 'the safest place in wizarding Britain'. I've walked down parts of Knockturn Alley that felt safer than this castle."_

 _NOTE: All cards and correspondence expressing sympathy for the tragic attack on Mrs. Norris may be sent to the office of Hogwarts caretaker Argus Filch. Any letters to the editor by non-Slytherins who wish to express their views on this or other issues of the week may be mailed to Slytherin's first-year boys' dormitory. We also encourage students who feel they or their friends have been victims of illicit legilimency_ _—regardless of which house they hail from_ _—to reach out to us as well._

 _You are not alone. The Slytherin Scrawl is listening._

The Gryffindors' reactions varied widely. The older or more hidebound ones were dismissive of the article and very displeased with Creevey for collaborating with Frye. The younger and more easygoing students, not so quick to condemn any interaction with Slytherin out of hand, argued their side with unusual vigor.

"Can you believe Creevey?" Weasley said hotly. "What a bloody cheek, letting that Harper use his photos and quote my brother besides! Why didn't you stop him, Harry?"

"I didn't even know about it, Ron," Potter sighed. "Just because he's always following me and snapping pictures doesn't mean I own him."

Weasley took an angry swig of milk. "Well, someone should have been watching him! Just what's going on in this house, anyway? That kid's supposed to be your biggest fan and now he's helping those snakes drag you through the mud!"

Hermione held up her copy of the newsletter and pointed to the later paragraphs. "Really, Ron, did you bother to read to the end?"

"I didn't need to! A blind person can see they're just trying to smear Harry and Dumbledore! Bringing up all that bunk about him prying into Harry's mind ... "

"He _was_ using legilimency, _Ronald,"_ Hermione said firmly. "It was a textbook example."

"Says who? Loony Lovegood?" Fred Weasley broke in as he and George passed by.

"Can't listen to a word she says, Hermione." George quickly joined in.

"We grew up next door to her . 'The Quibbler' this ... "

" ... And 'nargles' that ... girl's touched, I'm afraid." George pointed to his head.

"Nuttier than a Christmas fruitcake," Fred finished.

Seamus Finnegan jumped in. "Look, Granger, people stare at each other all the time. Just like that slimy Malfoy is staring at you right now. Does that mean he's using legilimency too?"

"Wouldn't put it past him," Potter said.

Hermione was about to lecture them on the exact differences between a simple stare and an expert _legilimens_ violating a student's privacy when Finnegan's preceding statement sunk in. Sure enough, she spied Draco looking at her from the rival table. She had asked him not to give away her arrangement with the Malfoys to the other Gryffindors under any circumstances. As usual he was callous and a bit noncommittal about that, so she'd made him promise in the contract— _but they're going to find out eventually no matter what, and if they give you any sort of trouble about it, Hermione, I may very well come over there. We Malfoys protect our investments after all,_ he said smugly.

She wasn't thrilled about that implication, but Hermione had been called much worse things than an "investment." At least that word acknowledged her potential rather than her lineage. She met Draco's gaze and shook her head as much as she dared, hoping he would get the message to stay away.

"Just face it, you made a mistake," George was telling her.

Fred nodded in tandem. "Happens to the smartest of us."

Ginevra moved to her friend's defence. "Now just a minute. Fred, George, Finnegan ... you weren't even _there,_ and Ron, you were in the back of the room with ten people blocking your view. I was standing right there, six feet away from Dumbledore when Luna said it was legilimency and I happen to believe her."

"Oh, come off it, Gin. Since when do you have so much to say, anyway?" Weasley grumbled.

"Since you started treating me like an invalid who can't think for herself just because I'm your only sister, that's when. And it's Ginevra."

Hermione was startled by the change in her. The old Ginny went up and down like a roller-coaster; delighted to be at Hogwarts, despondent over missing her parents, thrilled to be in the same house as the one and only Harry Potter, furious at Weasley for hovering over her. The new one, Ginevra, was utterly calm and determined. Hermione was dying with curiosity about how and why she'd struck up a friendship with the Bloody Baron, who never spoke to students except to scare them out of their wits, but the redhead wasn't telling. Despite her ever more serious and secretive behavior, her popularity was growing in Gryffindor as Peeves wouldn't dare bother her or any other students she was with. For the first time Hermione realised how little she really knew about the youngest Weasley.

The semi-friendly shouting matches over the article continued through breakfast. Ginevra was of a mind to escape early, so Hermione met her at the door and offered to help her study this week for herbology, the class she was struggling most in. Perhaps they could slip in some private conversation as well ...

The Weasley twins watched them go and began whispering. Fred spoke first.

"It's not all going very well with us, is it? Ronniekins is cheesed off, Gin's taking tea with Slytherin's house ghost ... "

"Common room can't agree on nothin' ... and then there's Peeves."

"Right," Fred sighed, tossing down his fork and standing up from the table with his brother. "He's not going to give it back, is he Forge?"

"Rather doubt it, Gred," George shook his head with a wince.

"Thought we had a deal with that lil' wanker. We take his things, he takes ours, gives 'em all back in a few days, no harm done."

"Must be Gin. Scared spitless of her, he is."

"Ginevra now, remember?"

George nodded and rolled his eyes. "Right, right. Probably a phase she's going through."

"Anyway ... now what do we do?"

"I reckon we'll have to use our imaginations again, Forge."

They nodded sadly to each other and started out of the hall.

* * *

Among the things Severus Snape found most irritating about his job was having to explain to first-years, especially muggleborns, that magic did _not_ mean you got everything you wanted all the time. Certainly it was a powerful force but there were many variables at work. Intent was key, and a wizard's intensity depended greatly on the force of his will. Weak-willed students who lacked confidence that their spells would work often created their own self-fulfilling prophecies, like that Longbottom boy in Gryffindor. Proper pronunciation of incantations was also crucial (did no one teach these children _phonics?)_ , along with precise wand movement. If he were teaching a class like, say, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Snape would have had the time and the motivation to clarify these things to the little dunderheads.

Alas, he still taught potions, a far more subtle branch of magic. Therefore it was far more difficult to explain to the many students who had asked that he couldn't simply grab a potion off his shelves, jam it down Mrs. Norris' throat and cure her straightaway. Fresh mandrake root salve was the only thing that could cure petrification, and said roots were being grown in Pomona Sprout's greenhouse, where they would not be ready for harvesting until the following spring. When some of the firsties continued firing questions at him, he quickly lost his patience and started the day's lesson.

"Today's potion," Snape said, smirking evilly, "is a draught from which _several_ of you will one day benefit greatly: the anti-blemishing potion. It is mass-brewed, rather sloppily I might add, and sold in stores throughout the wizarding world. As Tolipan Blemishing Blitzer is the most popular brand, we shall be duplicating their recipe. Your key ingredients include a vial of antimony, a vial of leech juice, two shrivelfigs, and a teaspoon of powdered dragon claw. This potion is more difficult than the embarrassingly simple fare I have taught you thus far, as one student must add the antimony and leech juice at _exactly_ the same time while the other constantly stirs the mixture. Today, in a long overdue gesture of cooperation, you all will forego your usual teams in favor of _inter-house_ partners."

He greatly enjoyed the consternation that followed. The lions protested that the snakes would sabotage them, while the snakes believed the lions' incompetence would cost them points. Despite this, he ordered them to pair off at once. Snape was not enjoying his week, and he meant that the students should share in his discomfort.

Gabby gossip hound Vicky Frobisher was paired with dead silent Flora Carrow, who stared eerily at her the whole time. Hestia had to endure Jack Sloper, who spoke of nothing but Quidditch. Andrew Kirke and Morag Ollivander began bickering as soon as they sat down together and did not stop for the rest of the class period. Frye was fortunate to have a friend in Colin Creevey, and the two passed the time whispering excitedly about how well the newsletter had turned out.

Ginevra quickly sought out Luna. "Would you mind?"

"Not at all," Luna said, gesturing to the chair beside her. "Watch out for wrackspurts."

"Thanks for warning me," Ginevra smiled and made herself at home. "Those are the ones that mess with your concentration, right? That can be bad in this class."

Luna nodded seriously. "And I didn't bring my kit."

"Don't worry, I'll help you as much as I can. Why don't you heat up the antimony while I crush the dragon's claw?"

They set to work. Snape peered at them distastefully as he passed by but, seeing no issues with their ingredient preparation, moved on to easier targets. Ginevra gave Luna a relieved smile. The professor seemed to despise the other girl just as much as her, even though she was in his house. She was going to ask about it when Luna spoke first.

"Did you read our newsletter today?"

"Yes."

"Frye didn't mention that you and Granger were with Harry Potter at the scene of the crime," Luna whispered as she watched the antimony melt down. "He could have. Draco Malfoy and I asked him not to. And because Malfoy is the one paying my father to print the _Scrawl,_ Frye agreed."

Ginevra pursed her lips as she ground the piece of dragon claw with her mortar and pestle. "Why would Malfoy do us any favors? He hates us."

"It's grateful he is, for what you both did Hallowe'en night: Granger defending Slytherin and you defending me. As I am grateful."

Seeing Luna's mouth curve up at the edges, Ginevra had to smile back. She was so afraid that Slytherin would change the girl, turn her into a monster; all wizards became tainted by darkness when sorted there, her family had taught her growing up. But this was the same Luna Lovegood she played in her backyard with, chasing invisible creatures together until the sun set, sneaking one of her brothers' brooms out of the shed and pretending to play Quidditch for Gryffindor while Luna provided commentary ...

She had to resist the urge to reach over and hug her right there in class. "You're welcome, Luna. But are you sure Malfoy wasn't doing that just because of you?"

The antimony was molten and ready. Luna set it aside as the water in their cauldron neared a boil, then began peeling the shrivelfigs. The two of them _clicked,_ as they always had, working in a pleasant and almost effortless rhythm.

"Quite positive. In fact, you can ask him yourself. You're meeting Granger in the library this week, right?"

Who told her that? Luna always seemed to know things that she shouldn't. "Yes ... on Wednesday, after lunch. Just for a little help with herbology. But how did you ... "

"You may just find us there as well."

From any other snake, Ginevra would have taken that as a threat. She nodded reluctantly. "Fine. But I'm telling you, Malfoy's a prat and I don't know why you spend so much time with him. He wants nothing to do with me or Hermione, that I'm sure of."

Snape's voice rang out impatiently from the back of the room. "You should all now be ready to begin the most crucial stage of your brewing. If you are not, I shall be most displeased."

She wondered if Snape was _ever_ pleased. "All right, Luna. You stir and I'll pour."

Luna obliged. Ginevra tested the vials and saw that the antimony would pour more slowly than the leech juice. She would have to time things carefully to make sure both went in at the same moment. She had a feeling anything else would lead to failure, or worse. A minor explosion at the table behind them confirmed her guess. Her hands began to shake. She was wavering. In another minute, the antimony would be too cold and their potion ruined.

 _I hate potions,_ she once wrote to Tom. _My teacher is awful._

 _Forget the teacher,_ he replied. _Shut him out. There is only you and your cauldron. You and your goal. Nothing else._

For Tom, the end result was all; justified all. Everything was about power. Until she read about it in his words, she never realised how badly she wanted it herself. Hungered for it. Dreamed of it. And the more she thought of Tom, the more she felt ... called, somehow, as if he were still nearby and he needed her. She first felt it on Hallowe'en, when everyone was gathered around Filch's poor cat, like an ache in her heart that had been growing ever since.

She would follow that ache, get him back, and do something to make him proud in the meantime.

Her hands steadied. Glaring imperiously down at the cauldron, seeing nothing else, she tipped one vial and then the other. The potion gave a promising hiss as both liquids swirled in at once. Luna stirred deliberately the whole time; Ginevra's concentration seemed to inspire hers as well. The shrivelfigs and finally the powdered claw were added without incident.

Snape stalked over to check their work. He picked up the cauldron and examined the potion closely, then dipped a finger in to test the consistency. His eyes searched their faces for weakness, signs of any mistake they might have made or shortcut they might have taken. Luna looked up at him without fear and, for the first time, so did Ginevra.

He sneered. "Acceptable."

Another potion exploded at the table next to theirs, splattering Snape's robe and hair. He moved not an inch.

" ... Which, compared to the other pitiful efforts I've seen today, is no small feat. Five points each to Slytherin and Gryffindor."

* * *

"Would you hurry up, Blaise? You're slower than an erumpent in winter. Here we've got a real-life mystery right in front of us and you're _still_ thinking of books!"

Pansy Parkinson's elegant and slightly pug features were flush with excitement as she scurried along the second-floor corridor. Her pale wand rode jauntily on her hip as she pulled a weary Blaise Zabini along by the sleeve.

"I wish you'd leave me out of this, Parkinson. I'm positively fagged. You try sleeping in the same dorm with Malfoy and Nott while they're arguing nonstop about mudbloods ... I swear they were at it all night Sunday and Monday. And since when are you a detective? This is far too risky. We're not Gryffindors, for Salazar's sake."

Pansy's sickly hazel eyes flashed. "No, Blaise, we're Slytherins. The same house that everyone else at Hogwarts is trying to pin this ridiculous Heir business on. And if we're going to avoid taking the fall for this, we'd better be the first ones to figure it out. Now come on! I told you, that part of the corridor is bound to be deserted now. Even Filch has to eat dinner."

"Oh, and I'm missing _that_ too. Thank you ever so much for reminding me."

 _"Shh!"_ Pansy put a manicured finger to her lips as they rounded the corner, and pointed to the vandalised section of the wall. "See? I told you! His chair's empty. Now quick, let's start looking for clues."

Blaise yawned and gestured lazily at the floor. "Looks like he mopped up the foul-smelling puddle that was there. Good riddance. This school's filthy enough, in more ways than one."

Pansy folded her arms and looked across the floor from where the puddle had been to the haunted girl's bathroom. "Water outside the loo ... are you thinking what I'm thinking, Blaise dear?"

He shrugged. "A dog?"

"What do you mean, a _dog?"_

"Could have been, for all we know. Big dog loose in the halls, scares the cat so badly she freezes, urinates on the floor and leaves. Makes sense to me."

"Dogs aren't even allowed in here, Blaise!"

He sighed. "My point, fair Lady Parkinson, is that it could have been anything. Old Dumbledore's protective wards are a joke. They let a troll in last year, to say nothing of the other rumours ... "

"We're not going to get to the bottom of this by throwing up our hands and saying 'oh, it could have been anything'," Pansy exclaimed, imitating Blaise's languid drawl. "That's Hufflepuff logic. Obviously something sopping wet came out of the bathroom, so we can assume—"

"That 'something' could have been any unfortunate soul who walked in. It's Moaning Myrtle's, remember?"

Pansy raked her hands through her short, dark hair. "That's just it, Blaise. None of the students uses this bathroom for that very reason. But apparently on Hallowe'en, someone did."

Blaise nodded with another yawn. "Well, there's nothing for it. We'll have to ask Myrtle."

"I wouldn't if I were you ... "

"How else am I going to find out and get you off my back? Never fear; my Italian charm shall win her over in a twinkling. No, don't come along; she hates other girls, I hear, and besides you've got to watch the corridor. Wouldn't do to have someone else see me strolling out of the girl's loo. I'll just be a moment."

He waltzed in. Little more than a minute had passed before he staggered out wet to the skin, amid a litany of ghostly wails.

Pansy shook with suppressed laughter. "Any luck?"

"I think she likes me," he said drily.

* * *

By Wednesday, Harry Potter found himself watching Hermione more closely than usual. It was typical for her to spend a lot of time reading, but now she did almost nothing else. He and Weasley had been trying to find out what she was up to without success, and eventually the other boy had convinced him to help keep an eye on her the next time she went to the library. He'd been growing suspicious of her ever since the attack.

As usual Potter was torn between them. Part of him agreed with the boy who had so quickly befriended him on the train, while another part wanted to trust Hermione and give her space. But staying after potions class to scrape tubeworms off the desks had tired him out, and he wanted a quiet place to do his history homework after a quick lunch, so he decided to join them.

"I don't believe it. Still eight inches short!" Weasley was grumbling when Potter came in. He removed his hand from his parchment and, as he had failed to use a paperweight, it rolled up like a windowshade and probably smeared the ink. "The traitor's done four feet seven inches and her writing's tiny! It's like she's trying to make us look bad!"

 _"Shhh!"_ Madam Pince interjected.

"Don't call her that, Ron," Potter said as he sank into the next chair and grabbed the tape measure. Hermione was sitting at the far end of the table next to Ginevra, where they were quietly perusing an herbology book. "I didn't know your sister would be here."

"Yeah, speaking of snake lovers. What on earth's gotten into those two lately?"

"You could at least try to keep an open mind. I mean, it probably _was_ a Slytherin, but there are plenty of students who think it was me, too. I just saw Justin Finch-Fletchley in the hall on the way here, and he turned around and ran the other way!"

"Oh, old Flinchey?" Weasley snorted. Then, when he saw Harry's questioning look: "Well, we call him Flinchey 'cause he's such a coward. Never mind him, Harry. He thinks Lockhart is a great wizard, so what does that tell you?"

"Good point," Potter chuckled and began writing about 'The Medieval Assembly of European Wizards.'

"Hey, Hermione," Weasley said abruptly, checking his watch. "Let me copy your parchment, will you?"

Ginevra rolled her eyes as if she were used to this sort of thing. "Come on, Ron, do your own work. She's busy with me."

"And you've had ten days to finish that history parchment," Hermione added.

"Keep out of this, _Ginevra,"_ Weasley said mockingly. "Please, 'Mione, I only need a few more inches! Go on, hand it over!"

"And they say Slytherins are unethical," said an unpleasantly familiar voice.

Weasley barely stopped himself from crying out in surprise. Draco and Luna stood at the other side of their table with undisguised amusement. No one had even heard them come in.

"Mind your own business, Malfoy!" Weasley spat.

"I was until I overheard such an interesting conversation. Really, if you're going to leech off a muggleborn's hard work the least you can do is pay her for the privilege."

"It's what a true friend would do," Luna added softly. "Perhaps you can borrow the money from Harry Potter."

"I'm warning you two," the redhead stood up from the table. "One more word ... "

"Just ignore him, Ron!" Ginevra said.

"Hungry for more slugs, are you Weasley?" Draco taunted him. "The way you eat, I wouldn't be surprised if you've developed a taste for them."

"Shut up!" Weasley shouted, and drew his damaged wand. Potter jumped in to restrain him. Luna immediately took a chair, tugged Draco into the one next to her, and placed an open book on the table just as Madam Pince rushed in.

 _"Mr. Weasley!"_ the fussy librarian hissed. "What do you think you're doing? Raising your voice, drawing your wand on two students who are trying to study ... Professor McGonagall will hear about this!"

Weasley was outraged. "But they—"

"Out! Out, out, _out!"_ Madam Pince insisted as Draco and Luna smirked at each other. The class bell rang, forcing everyone to go their separate ways. Potter went after Weasley, still trying to calm him down. With an exasperated look at Draco, Hermione followed after.

Ginevra paused at the door and looked back at the Slytherins. It was strange; she could hardly imagine two more different people, and yet they looked ... right together, somehow. "Could you two not provoke him, please? Ron is hard enough to deal with when he's in a _good_ mood."

Luna elbowed Draco in the side. He nodded reluctantly and cleared his throat. "Er ... of course. That was rude of me. Perhaps you'd allow me to make up for it by being a gentleman and walking you ladies to your next class?"

Ginevra raised an eyebrow in disbelief, but seeing Luna's reassuring smile, she sighed. "Fine. But let's hurry."

"Actually there's something I was hoping to discuss with you, Weas ... Ginevra," Draco said, trying to keep up as she sped out of the library.

"If it's another round of insults, save it. I don't have time. And since when do you use my given name?"

"Since you earned my respect, of course."

The Gryffindor slowed down, then stopped, wondering if she'd heard him correctly. "Come off it, Malfoy."

"He is quite serious, Ginevra," Luna said.

Malfoy nodded. "You stood by Luna when she called out Dumbledore. That means a lot to me."

"To both of us," said Luna.

"Thank you."

Ginevra stood uncertainly in the corridor, her next class forgotten.

"Clearly our parents don't get on well; you saw that in Flourish and Blott's. But I see no reason why you and I can't get along. What do you say?"

This was just bizarre. A Malfoy, proposing friendship? Prior to this, the only real interaction they had was her standing up to him in the bookstore when he made fun of Harry Potter. But a number of strange things had happened to her since that day, and all of them had worked out so far. For the first time it felt as though she were really seeing him. This was a morbidly fascinating chance to find out more about Harry Potter's worst enemy. If nothing else, there was potential in that. But what was his reason, or more to the point, his ulterior motive? All Slytherins had one. Gratitude was one thing, alliance another.

Her housemates already whispered about her because she was close to one Slytherin. Did she really want to associate with a second, and one of the most notorious at that?

Then again ... who _cared_ what her housemates thought, or her family for that matter? They'd protected her so compulsively that she'd been thrust into Hogwarts without a clue. Weak. Pathetic. Broke.

Draco Malfoy was everything she wasn't. Everything her family and friends wanted to deny her.

"I don't want to be rude, Malfoy, but you've got a bad reputation. All your family has. I'm only listening to you because Luna's vouching for you," Ginevra paused to gather her thoughts. "If you want to be friends with me, then I need you to stop being a ponce to Ron. He's not always easy to get along with, but he is my brother."

Draco made a face as if the thought of putting up with Weasley was physically painful, but another nudge from Luna seemed to galvanise him.

"You drive a hard bargain, Ginevra, but ... very well. Now that's settled, we'd best be off to class."

"Agreed." She started walking with them again, trying to think of anything else she'd like to say to him. "And by the way, Draco, I am _not_ Harry Potter's girlfriend."

He didn't seem to appreciate a witch from the poorest and least prestigious pure-blood family in Britain using his first name, but he didn't make a fuss about it. "Fair enough."

"And I don't go along with your pure-blood pecking order or your blood purity stuff, so don't even start that with me."

"Fine."

"And we're still going to destroy you at Quidditch!"

Walking alongside her, Draco chuckled bitterly. "Let's just agree to disagree on that one."

* * *

Slytherin's Quidditch squad was a team in decline.

A few short years ago they were nearly invincible. Captained by Morag's cousin Ignatius Ollivander and later Marcus Flint, they won six Cups in a row from 1986 to 1991, but by the final year even their most passionate supporters could see they were paying out diminishing returns. They lost a dramatic game to Gryffindor and their new seeker Harry Potter, and would almost certainly have been dethroned if not for Potter's injury later in the season. This caused Gryffindor to finish up with their worst defeat in three hundred years and effectively handed the championship to Slytherin.

While their classic strategies of brute strength and roughhousing brought them much success in the past, lighter and faster players were changing the way Quidditch was played in the youth ranks. Compared with 1986 it was almost a different game entirely, and the snakes were struggling to adapt. Adding Draco and Millicent to the lineup had been steps in the right direction, but until the team could find more agile starters at the chaser and keeper positions they were projected to be sitting ducks.

Then Lucius Malfoy stepped in.

Seven Nimbus 2001 brooms were an exorbitant stopgap, but a necessary one to maintain any hope of Slytherin retaining the Cup this year. With the finest equipment galleons could buy, the snakes were green and silver blurs racing around the pitch, and Flint had drilled them extensively on formations that would make the most of their quickness and muscle. Though a mediocre student, he was like a mad scientist when it came to Quidditch. Rumour had it he stayed up late into the night designing plays, driving Selwyn and his other roommates crazy. Whether these investments paid off depended on the team's execution, and most of all on their newly minted seeker.

Draco barely heard the pregame speech in the locker room. He was in a trance. This was his first real game, an opportunity he had been dreaming of ever since he picked up a broom. Countless hours of practise in his backyard with Theodore, Millicent, Goyle, and Crabbe had all been leading to one Saturday in November.

As he walked out onto the field, he thought for sure he was going to throw up.

The weather was muggy and overcast. Most of the stadium booed the Slytherins as expected. But somewhere in that hostile crowd were his parents, Professor Snape, and nearly all of his housemates. He tried not to look. Instead he locked eyes with Potter.

He wondered if the boy knew how silly he appeared in a Quidditch uniform. He nearly got lost in the robe, the sleeves draping more loosely than a dementor's. And yet somehow this scrawny delinquent captured the imagination of the entire wizarding world, simply because You-Know-Who dropped by his house on a bad night. Everything a wizard should not be—raised by muggles, a lazy student, a pop culture icon, a Gryffindor—was standing right there, bright green eyes flickering in the flash from Creevey's camera.

If there was any great cause that must be championed in the wizarding world then he, the most powerful of the pure-blood heirs, would lead it. Not Harry Potter. This boy must fall, and Draco wanted to see the faces of his fickle worshipers when it happened.

Madam Hooch called the beginning of the game, and fourteen players swooped off into the autumn grey. With a contemptuous look at Draco, Potter went higher than any of them, his ego insatiable as ever. As he gazed around theatrically for the snitch Draco spotted a problem and zoomed under him, not merely to show off the speed of his broom but to warn him: "bludger, scarhead!"

Potter looked all around him and was lucky enough to dodge one of the heavy iron balls, but it passed closely enough to ruffle his unkempt hair. Draco smirked. He wanted to outplay Harry Potter, not fly off with an easy win because he was knocked unconscious in the first thirty seconds. He rose higher above the field now and saw his teammates flying one of Flint's new plays, a variant on formation grouping where Pucey and Montague flew side by side while passing the quaffle back and forth the whole time 'til one was in scoring range. Without the new Nimbuses the faster Gryffindors would have easily intercepted the ball, but as it was they just couldn't keep up. Pucey scored the first goal for Slytherin within two minutes, drawing boos and hisses from the audience.

Endlessly annoying and biassed commentator Lee Jordan's voice rang out over the stands. _"And Pretty Boy Pucey scores first, ten to nothing Slytherin... but don't let his surprisingly clean play fool you, he's still as slimy as the rest of them."_

 _"Jordan,"_ Professor McGonagall's voice chastised mildly.

Draco saw one of the Weasley twins hit a bludger directly at him; he pulled sideways to avoid it, but noted with some dismay that the ball was turning around and heading straight for Potter. Strange, that. Bludgers never targeted a single player this way. Perhaps even _they_ were won over by Potter's celebrity. Whatever the case it forced the twin weasels to constantly flank Potter so he wouldn't get killed, which limited them to stopping only one bludger and kept him from seeking effectively.

Draco used that time to skim along the ground and then upwards, dodging the other bludger while looking about him for the snitch. For a moment he saw a glitter of gold over by the hoops, but it was just the lining on Oliver Wood's uniform; damn those Gryffindors. Wood caught his eye and yelled at him to clear off, so Draco had a grand view of the quaffle sailing by his head and into the right hoop courtesy of Montague.

 _"Snakes have their second goal courtesy of Montague's mutant forearms,"_ Jordan announced petulantly. _"I hear he's got forearm implants. Maybe it's to compensate for ... well, never mind."_

 _"JORDAN!"_ McGonagall was _not_ amused this time, but the fourth-year ignored her as usual. Draco really wished somebody would shut up that clown. Luna had a better voice anyway, but of course they wouldn't pick _her_ ...

A flash of gold! No, just Potter's robe as he and the weasels went careening past. Was that bludger still after him? If someone had rigged it Draco didn't know about it. He was slowly angling higher to get a better view when something hit him with a muffled _thud_ and he nearly pitched forward off his broom, hanging on for dear life. Stinging pain spread across his lower back. Draco grit his teeth and willed himself higher.

 _"Ouch, Malfoy's been bludgered! About time that boy got a good whooping,"_ Jordan exclaimed with delight. _"Meanwhile the other one still has Potter's name on it! And ... Slytherin scores a third time. They sure are putting the wood to Oliver, pun intended, but then that's quite easy when you have only one bludger and no opposing beaters to worry about."_

Unbeknownst to the commentator, Draco had been hit with bludgers many times practising at home and knew how to cope with the pain. Struggling to breathe, he turned his broom to face the pitch and felt cold wetness on his back. It was starting to rain, but not even waterlogged robes could slow down the Slytherins much. Gryffindor's habit of picking female chasers made for some nice team photographs but didn't always translate to success on the pitch; Angelina Johnson was extraordinary, but Bell and Spinnet were getting mugged out there. Flint, Montague and Pucey stole the quaffle time and again, and Wood could only make so many saves.

Slytherin put up forty points, then fifty, then sixty, and in Jordan's words it was _"looking like a bit of a joke."_ Then Draco saw a chance to ice the game: finally he spotted the snitch, hovering skittishly above his team's goal. Bletchley waved at him as he passed over, but Draco focused only on the gleaming ball of gold, closer and closer and—

And Madam Hooch's whistle screeched, forcing time-out. No! He was twenty meters away from the snitch! Cursing bitterly, Draco stopped his broom and watched the winged ball flutter out of sight. He swooped down to the ground where the other snakes were resting, still rubbing his back where the bludger hit him. "Right. Who called that?!"

"The kitties," jeered Flint.

"Think they're going to forfeit?" Millicent's face was red with exhiliration. She'd done a splendid job so far in her first game as a beater.

Draco fumed. "They'd better! I was ten seconds away from taking the snitch!"

Bole reached out and mussed his hair. "Tough break, Malfoy. You'll get it next time. 'Sides, we've got them on the run!"

"I'll marry this broom, I will!" Montague exulted, planting a kiss on the handle.

Millicent pointed to their huddled opponents. "They sure are talking a lot. It's about the one bludger, I expect. That thing's been after Potter the whole game. Not supposed to do that, are they? Look ... no, they're sending Hooch away. Guess they're going to keep playing."

"Bastards," grumbled Draco.

"If they want more punishment, we'll give it to 'em!" Flint said fiercely, hefting his broom.

The captain and the beaters were ready, but Draco couldn't help noticing Pucey and Montague looking worn. Bletchley had defended quite a few shots from Johnson and was breathing hard. He knew those three should have tried harder in workouts. Disquiet settled in the pit of his stomach.

"No rest for the wicked or the cunning," he said, catching their eyes. "I'll get us the snitch, but I need you lot to hang in there. Rough them up as hard as you can, and if you feel like you're going to fall off your broom, take one of them down with you. For Slytherin!"

"SLYTHERIN!" they shouted back as Hooch's whistle sounded again and the game restarted.

Thirty seconds later, Draco wished it hadn't. The rogue bludger came for Potter almost immediately, forcing the brat to pull some highly embarrassing stunts to avoid it. Apparently the twin weasels had left him to his fate in order to defend their goal. Potter was just crazy enough that he'd probably suggested it.

"Just keep turning, you fool!" Draco shouted disgustedly. He had some experience avoiding jinxed bludgers thanks to his father's imaginative training methods, and unless a player was as heavy as Eloise Midgen, he or she could make much sharper turns than the iron ball could follow. But Potter had clearly never done those exercises; he was panicking and, upon hearing Draco's voice, proceeded to fly straight at him.

Draco gulped and, almost too late, saw the golden glitter reflected in Potter's rain-spattered glasses.

 _The snitch was right behind him._

Just in time he abruptly turned his broom and, managing to make it look like an accident, wrenched him off his course. Potter's body sagged in despair as he lost sight of his prize, his vision so badly obscured that he didn't realise his broom was in a nosedive until he plowed straight into the commentary position.

 _"And Potter is—got to pull up, NO POTTER—!"_ was all Jordan could say before the boy landed right on top of him and sent the two of them tumbling painfully into the bleachers. The bludger followed seconds after, barely missing them and punching right through one of the wooden benches. It would have popped back out and probably finished Potter off had Sophie Roper, of all people, not dropped her heavy bag on top of the hole (of course she'd brought all her textbooks to a Quidditch game) and sat on it. The ball banged around inside of the bench something awful, but with very little room to build up momentum it was unable to escape.

There were sounds of jostling and shoving before a soft, cool, whimsical voice settled over the crowd like a faerie's mist. _"Hullo, Quidditch fans. Oh, deary me. Little Harry Potter's gone and crashed into us as surely as a dabberblimp finds plums. And he's taken Lee Jordan off to dream-land with him. Don't worry, Jordan. It's a lovely place."_

Luna Lovegood, his best friend and backup commentator (as neither Ravenclaw nor Hufflepuff bothered to select one), had found her way to the megaphone. The _sonorus_ enchantment lent her voice an authority she rarely commanded in person. Ginevra Weasley was dismayed at her team's predicament but still moved down through the bleachers to see her friend. Draco felt a bewitching calm deep inside, but the same sound that brought him comfort cast a pall over the crowd and the Gryffindors. For the last few moments they had been drifting aimlessly around the pitch watching their seeker plummet into the stands, but no whistle had blown and now Katie Bell, with a renewed sense of desperation, snatched the quaffle away from Adrian Pucey. Before the other Slytherins could react she had raced the rest of the way to their goal and scored the first points for her house.

 _"Katie Bell has gotten over her loser's lurgy. Oh what a joy for Gryffindor. That's quite contagious, you know."_

 _"Sixty to ten, Slytherin,"_ McGonagall added uneasily.

Draco saw that his teammates were badly startled by the score. The Gryffindors, down but not out, now moved to seize the advantage. Their movements became faster and better coordinated; their formations tightened up. Angelina Johnson was a blur as she led Spinnet and Bell down the field; already bruised and beaten, they gathered around her and used their bodies to prevent Montague and Flint from knocking the quaffle loose. The stadium exhaled in disappointment as Bletchley saved the shot, but roared breathlessly when Johnson made a seemingly impossible spin on the rebound and flung it again past his outstretched hand.

 _"A lioness doing ballet is a most unusual sight,"_ said Luna. _"I wonder how long such a thing can go on."_

 _"Announce the results, Miss Lovegood. Sixty to twenty, Slytherin."_ A note of hopeful pride had entered McGonagall's voice.

The sick pocket in Draco's stomach was expanding into a void. Now all the Slytherins looked tired, and he knew he must get after the snitch. But the storm had begun in earnest now, and it was hard to see anything through the dark sheets of rain. Thunder rumbled ominously as his friends struggled below him, fast but ineffective, and a third score by the lions had the spectators on their feet. Everything was a wet charcoal-coloured blur, matching the bitter taste in his throat.

He flew near the top of the pitch, straining his eyes for a breakthrough that wouldn't come. The snitch might as well be in another galaxy. Wild cheers soon greeted a fourth and fifth goal. He could see the disappointment on mother and father's faces already, could see his whole house losing confidence in him and the direction he wanted to take them in. This was more than a Quidditch game. It was a losing struggle to preserve the honour he had been born with, but never really earned.

A sixth goal. Gryffindor had tied the game.

He wanted to cry. Instead, he fought.

 _"And just as the Gryffindors are romping through the garden ... a serpent descends."_

Draco heard her words only in a far off corner of his mind. He dove toward the center, gathered his wits and tried to remember everything he had learned about the snitch from seven years of training; it's subtle movements, its flights of fancy. Everyone seemed to think snitches were wildly unpredictable, but even the most sophisticated ones fell into patterns if one knew how to recognise them. They were enchanted by wizards and would follow human-like tendencies. The snitch was designed to avoid encumbrance at all costs. With the rain pouring down it would be constantly encumbered, gradually flying lower and increasing its speed in a vain attempt to avoid the physical contact.

 _"He looks upon what others have worked hard for and declares it his. The pieces no longer matter. The board belongs to him."_

McGonagall was hopelessly confused at this point, and had to jump in to describe the action. _"Slytherin makes a bold attempt to hold onto the quaffle as Malfoy makes his move."_

But Luna was right. All of this belonged to his father, in one way or another, and one day it would belong to him. It was all the Malfoys' board, not Dumbledore's or anyone else's. The board ... the ground. The Snitch was on the _ground!_

He spotted it as he descended further, skimming wildly along the grass. The bludger came right at him and was slammed aside by Millicent with only a few feet to spare.

"Go for it, Malfoy!" she said in a ragged shout.

He did. His broom was blindingly fast and closing in.

 _"Malfoy moves to take what is his. Harry Potter and Jordan are still in each other's arms ... I wonder if they'll go to the next school dance together."_

 _"LOVEGOOD!"_

 _"Ohhh, wait, Harry Potter is getting to his feet. Yes, he is returning to the field. I hope he remembers which way is up."_

What? No, not Potter. Not now! Why wouldn't that bloody attention whore stay down?! Draco flew as fast as he could, nearing the edge of the field. As if it sensed him, the snitch soared nearly a hundred feet upwards, leading him on a not-so-merry chase until abruptly changing direction again, diving towards the last place he wanted it to go: the commentary post, where Potter was on his broom and unsteadily rising back into the air.

 _"The Gryffindors never give up, do they?"_ observed Luna. _"But my friends tell me that's what makes them so much fun to play with, seeing just how much they can suffer before they finally break ... "_

"COMMENT ON THE GAME, LOVEGOOD!" McGonagall frothed next to her. "Malfoy and Potter ... both trying for the snitch!"

The Slytherins were watching, and Spinnet took advantage of their lapse in concentration to score another goal and give Gryffindor a 70-60 lead. It went almost unnoticed. Everything depended on the snitch, flying with all its speed to escape Draco and find Potter. Even through twisted and broken glasses the golden boy saw it too, and he wrapped his aching body around his broom and put out his hand. Just like his hand had been out all his life, grasping for the glory and power that was promised to Draco from birth. He imagined that filthy, unworthy hand stealing food off his table, and flew faster.

It was no use. Potter was rocketing up towards the ball, close enough to see its wings flicker. This was meant to be his. It was within arm's reach in an instant, and his fingers closed.

On nothing.

The glimmer of hope was extinguished in a blur of dark green as Draco intercepted the ball's course with his sleeve, executing a perfect Plumpton Pass. Potter sailed harmlessly past him. Too weak to stay up, he hit the ground hard and rolled over onto his knees. Draco squeezed the golden ball between his arm and his side, sneering triumphantly down at Potter as he reached into the robe with his left hand and held the snitch aloft.

A kind of shudder went through three fourths of the crowd. McGonagall's groan was audible over the megaphone, the sound of someone suddenly aging another decade. Slytherins jumped up from the stands and mobbed the field as their seeker landed among them. He didn't feel his feet touch the ground. Joyful faces surrounded him, all but the one he was looking for.

"Luna," he said breathlessly. "Where's Luna?"

The frail girl was thrust into his arms by Ginny. She steadied herself against his chest and he held her there, almost hurting her, hiding his face in her wet hair. Blaise was right; she did smell a bit like peaches, and butterbeer too thanks to the corks on her necklace, but mostly like Luna.

"That's strange," she said happily in his ear. "The rain on your face tastes like salt."

"Shut up," he gasped, smiling as he wiped his eyes. Another pair of arms came about them and he saw that Luna inexplicably had pulled Ginevra into the hug. Her blue eyes met his and the look on her face was so much like Potter's it was uncanny. She wanted what he had, but she was asking for it, not grasping at it like a beggar. There was respect in those eyes.

Cold silvery light shone around them. Where was it coming from? He looked up to see his father standing nearby, deftly putting his wand back into his robe. Good old father, ever with a flair for the dramatic. Almost delirious, Draco kissed Luna on the cheek and handed the snitch off to Ginevra before going to meet his parents. He fell into their embrace, all formalities discarded in the elation of victory.

"I am so proud of you," Lucius whispered to him. Draco could have died happily in that moment.

Harry Potter could have just died. He rested on his knees in the grass with Ron and Hermione on either side of him, offering sympathies he never heard. He was the last player to leave the field.


	11. Don't Look Now

_A/N: Perspective means a lot in this story. Much of it is told from Draco's POV, and even when I enter the minds of other characters his influence lingers. This is why Potter and Weasley are still referred to by their last names most of the time, and so was Granger until Draco started thinking of her as "Hermione." In this chapter, you'll read the first scene that combines the perspective of all the main characters._

 _Names are also important. Though the pure-blood pecking order is never exactly spelled out, you can tell who has more status by what names people call each other. Luna, being from a poorer and less distinguished pure-blood clan, calls Draco and most of his friends by their surnames. But she's still higher up the ladder than half-bloods like Frye, so she calls him by his given name. The other houses at Hogwarts don't bother with these formalities, but in Slytherin, tradition rules. Now, it's time for a pivotal chapter! You may recall that in Chapter 10, Fred and George were discussing something Peeves had taken from them and not given back. I wonder what that might've been ..._

* * *

guest #5 (ch.10): _True! As much weight as Potter has on his shoulders, Draco is trying to lead his entire house, plus he has the family legacy to worry about._

guest #6/Philkins27 (ch.1): _Thanks for your feedback! To answer a few of your questions: no, Snape can't be trusted by anyone besides Dumbledore. He loved Lily more than anybody else in his life and he got her killed, so what does that tell you? I don't know exactly what Dumbledore is up to yet but I'll figure it out as I go along. He might play a large part in the story or a small one depending on what happens next. As for who stole the diary from Draco and who Selwyn is talking to, that will all be revealed by the end of the story. :)_

Sunset Whispers: _Very tough scene to write, but a lot of fun too. No matter what's going on Luna will find a way to be awesome._

ifyoudieidie02: _Thanks. I worked harder on Chapter 10 than any other. This story is basically my life except when I'm at work, and even then I'm thinking about it._

Bartholomew Black: _Probably the greatest compliment you can give to any AU fic is, "this should have been canon." Thanks a million!_

guest #7 (ch.10): _Thank you! I'm growing to love Draco's character myself. As I say in my profile, he's not a nice guy in canon and you have to set things up a certain way to make him the kind of protagonist a reader roots for._

* * *

 **XI: Don't Look Now**

"No! Really?"

"Yes! Really!"

"No no no. I mean ... really?!" the first girl whisper-shrieked, too wrapped up in this fascinating conversation to even notice the heavy footsteps that were reluctantly approaching them.

"I swear, Cho, really!" Marietta Edgecombe tittered inanely, her frizzy strawberry-blonde hair bouncing about her face.

"But not _really!"_

Sound of somebody's throat clearing. Both girls looked up to acknowledge the intrusive presence at the Ravenclaw table.

"Hate to interrupt this fascinating little talk, but if you don't mind, Marietta ... "

"What do you want with my friend?" Cho Chang looked at the large boy like something she'd found on the bottom of her shoe.

Her friend patted her gently on the wrist. "It's fine, Cho. He just needs a few study tips, remember? I'll see you at the Tower in a few minutes."

"Oh, fine. But you keep your hands to yourself, Marcus Flint!" the dark-haired backup seeker warned him before stepping out of the Great Hall.

"Charming girl," growled the Slytherin captain.

The giggly, bubbleheaded persona slid off Marietta's face like a mask. Her soft lips twisted scornfully. "I'm sorry, Flint, could you be a little _less_ subtle next time?"

"Depends. Could your friend be more of a cow?"

"She's still upset the Slytherins won the game. Speaking of which ... I'd say the little tips I gave you worked out quite brilliantly."

He gave her a non-committal shrug. "Well enough."

"Well enough? You were murdering them until you and your chasers got tired. I told you the lions couldn't replicate the speed of your brooms in practise, Bell was all talk, and Spinnet couldn't take what she dished out. I was right on all counts. Let's have the money, Marcus."

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled, and sat down next to her. They made a pretext of opening their textbooks so that he could slip her a bit of folded parchment. "Five gold galleons, like we agreed. Don't suppose you'll be giving us any tips against your birdies ... "

"Spy on my own house's team? What do you think I am, a _traitor?"_ she put a hand to her throat in mock offense.

"For the right price," he whispered. "Another five galleons?"

"That is morally offensive!"

"Seven galleons."

"How do you snakes sleep at night?"

"Ten galleons."

Marietta sighed. "Decisions, decisions. How awful of you to put all this pressure on a poor, innocent third-year."

He let out a short, barking laugh. "Innocent, right. Well, I'll give you some time to think it over."

The politician's daughter waited for him to lumber off before counting her money and smiling. Unlike many of her friends she discovered long ago that book-smarts only got one so far in life, and half-blood witches without financial security often ended up in menial careers or worse, prowling Knockturn Alley. If she didn't look out for herself then no one would. She whisked the coins away into her bag and, effortlessly replacing her ditzy facade, tripped away to catch up with Chang.

* * *

Harry Potter emerged from the loss to Slytherin with bumps, bruises, a deep laceration in his leg and a mild concussion. This last injury led Madam Pomfrey to confine him to the hospital wing for the night. Though he didn't like it, perhaps it was just as well; he didn't know if he could bear to face his fellow Gryffindors after this.

He tried to relax, but sleep was impossible. Every time he closed his eyes Draco Malfoy was there, hovering over him with that trademark sneer and the snitch clutched in his hand. And all because of that mad bludger.

"Someone tampered with it! I don't know how, but those rotten snakes rigged it!" Oliver Wood howled to anyone who would listen. The whole Gryffindor team agreed with him, and they dropped off some consolation prizes for Potter in the form of cakes and bottles of pumpkin juice. Hermione was crushed, almost in tears, and she hardly cared at all for Quidditch; it was almost like she was guilty about something, though Potter couldn't imagine what. For once, Weasley had actually made him feel better.

"Mate, that was fantastic. Getting up and flying back out there like you did after you crashed and burned ... I've never seen anything like it. Even the pros don't do that. I'm right proud of you, Harry."

He offered his hand, and Potter shook it appreciatively. "Thanks, Ron. Wish I could have won it for us too, but that means a lot. Promise me you won't give your sister a hard time, all right?"

Weasley closed his eyes and groaned weakly. "Merlin, don't remind me. Hugging Malfoy and Lovegood ... what could she have been thinking? They're going to give her hell."

Potter grabbed his wrist, gently. "Then you get back to that common room with her and make sure they _don't,_ Ron. You're her brother. No matter who she's friends with, that'll never change."

Weasley shuffled his feet on the tiled floor. "You're right, Harry. Plus she is a firstie ... doesn't really know any better, does she? I s'pose I have been kind of a git to her lately. I'll go back and see if Gin's still up, then. You get some sleep."

That had been some time ago, and still Potter lay awake. He was pondering whether to bother Madam Pomfrey for a sleeping draught when he felt something warm and wet on his face.

"Wha ... get off!" he gasped, opening his eyes to see a skinny little hand sponging his forehead in the dark. Potter sat up and saw an all too familiar face with bat-like ears and giant eyes. _"Dobby!"_

It was the mysterious house-elf who had sneaked away from his owners over the summer and warned Harry not to return to Hogwarts because of some horrible danger he refused to describe. Potter thought for sure he would have given up by now, but here he was, nodding shamefully as big tears ran down over his long, pointed nose.

"Dobby is being so very sorry for Harry Potter losing the game, sir. Oh, but he comes back to school, he does, when Dobby warns and _warns_ him not to go! Why does Harry Potter not go home when he misses the train?"

"And just how would you know about that, Dobby?" Potter said dangerously.

The elf cringed away and blubbered some more.

"It was you! You put up that barrier at King's Cross!"

Dobby's ears swayed as he half-nodded, half-bowed, still afraid to look the furious boy in the eyes. "Aye sir, that is all Dobby's doing. He hides and watches and irons his hands afterwards, yes ... " He held up ten bandaged fingers, causing Potter to flinch somewhat. "But he is thinking that at least Harry Potter is safe now. Never does he dream Harry Potter will be so stubborn that he gets to school another way! When he finds out, he is so ashamed that he lets Master's dinner burn ... and such a flogging he has never received, sir ... "

Potter swiped the sponge out of Dobby's hand and threw it across the room. "I don't want your apologies! You nearly got Ron and me expelled, and you won't even tell me why. I could strangle you!"

The elf retained a scrap of stubbornness himself even as he bowed and scraped. "Dobby knows sir, Dobby knows, and he is being used to death threats. He gets them five times a day at home."

"If they haven't killed you yet, then it can't be that serious," Potter said grouchily, still sore about the loss.

"Perhaps, sir, perhaps ... Bitsy is always telling Dobby Master and Mistress do not mean what they say. She is being their other house-elf, sir, and always does she warn against him getting involved. But he cares too much about Harry Potter not to. His bludger is proof enough of that—"

 _"Your bludger!"_ His anger rose again and he stood up violently, his head throbbing. "We lost the game because of you! You could have got me killed!"

"Not killed sir, never killed! Oh, if Harry Potter only knew ... "

"Get out!" Potter shouted, gripping the side of his head in anguish.

Squealing in fright, Dobby obeyed and popped out of the infirmary, no doubt to inflict more punishment on himself. Potter sobered at that thought and collapsed on the bed with a sigh. He didn't mean to blow his top like that, but this frustration had been building since September. Too many things had happened that he couldn't explain. Slytherin was leading them in points and outplaying them at Quidditch, his friends weren't getting along, Albus Dumbledore didn't trust him, Ginevra had changed completely from the girl he met at the Burrow, and if this mad house-elf tried to "save" him one more time he might very well end up dead. What else could go wrong?

After a time, he finally drifted off. He dreamed of Ginevra, Malfoy, and Lovegood surrounded by that unearthly light on the edge of the pitch.

Only when he began to toss in his sleep did Ginevra Weasley emerge from the shadows.

She had come in a while ago to console Potter, but he never saw her; her brothers and the other team members rushed in seconds later and she slipped away, having no desire to deal with their questions or their criticism. She'd been saying the same things to herself in her head ever since the game ended: _why did you hug Draco and Luna? Why did you do anything to make it look like you were celebrating a Slytherin victory?_ She didn't know why, and the more she thought about it the less confident she was about facing Harry afterwards. Even after the others cleared out she stayed hidden, still working up the courage to approach him when that strange little elf had appeared out of nowhere.

So he was the reason Harry Potter and her brother never got on the train with her! Not that it was a huge loss in retrospect; she would have _liked_ to ride with him, but what could she have said? That was when she still saw him as the hero from her storybooks, rather than the fallible and very human boy who lay injured and slumbering close by. As it happened she ended up sharing a compartment with Luna, falling asleep, and waking up to find her gone. Maybe it was Tom's fault; she seemed to get tired more easily after writing to him.

Speaking of sleep, it was well after curfew and she really ought to get back to her dorm. That shouldn't be too hard; her only concerns were sneaking back there unnoticed and making sure nobody was in the common room when she entered. Vicky wouldn't dare tell on her after a _nice_ little talk they had recently. The Baron had been so right; it was amazing what you could get away with if you planted just a little fear in people. Peeves had been only the first example of that ... but so far, he was definitely the most rewarding.

She reached into the pocket of her casual maroon-coloured robe and produced an old sheaf of blank parchment. Then, with a careful look around the silent infirmary, she huddled over the paper and recited:

 _"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."_

* * *

Quidditch after-parties, like much else at Hogwarts, were the stuff of legend. And like little else at Hogwarts, they lived up to their billing. The four houses had different ways of celebrating; Gryffindors tended to whoop it up with loud music and smuggled firewhisky. Ravenclaws wrote of each others' successes and recited them in their conference room. And Hufflepuffs ... well, what happened in the Hufflepuff Basement stayed in the Hufflepuff Basement. For all Draco knew, they stripped naked and ate live badgers.

Slytherin might be the most restrained of the four while bestowing the greatest rewards. Those who brought glory and points to the house received any number of perks, and victorious Quidditch players were treated like royalty. Draco's family name had always commanded respect and his improving study habits didn't hurt either. But for the next few days nothing would be too good for Lucius Malfoy's son, and he intended to make full use of that time. After a light lunch and some minor treatments from Madam Pomfrey, Draco and his teammates ran jubilantly back to a hero's welcome in the common room. The place was decked out with a wide variety of sweets, drinks, green streamers that writhed through the air like snakes, and old tapestries that were only displayed on the day of a Quidditch victory; they had been woven by former captain Dan Darker's sister in the 1740s.

Though Draco loved the attention, he also spread the benefits around to further engender his housemates' loyalty. He credited his friends with inspiring him to win, and called attention to Sophie for saving Potter's life and thus keeping them out of trouble. Though he hated the ponce, when it came down to it he didn't want Scarhead killed, just beaten. When Gemma presented him with a bottle of butterbeer he graciously shared it with the rest of the team. He even offered some to Luna, but she politely declined ("I wouldn't want to attract nargles, Malfoy") and went off to bed, looking tired and worn. Come to think of it, she'd been that way since the end of the game.

The celebration went on for the rest of the day. When night fell and everyone went to their dormitories, Draco had a talk with Theodore about keeping a lid on his anti-muggleborn outbursts for the good of the house. Blaise feigned sleep during this time, but Draco knew by his shallow breathing that he was still awake and listening.

"The thing is, mate, I agree with you about muggles. They are bloody dangerous and we do need to stay away from them. But muggleborns ... I know you don't like it, Theodore, but there's potential there. They can be turned in the right direction, some of them at least, and I need you to get used to that idea. Because she's going to show up here, soon, and I need you to be civil when she does."

"She who? What are you up to _now,_ Malfoy?" Theodore cried anxiously.

"You'll find out when the time is right."

He went straight to sleep, but this was one night he was not fated to spend undisturbed.

 _Dream Ssspeaker._

Lingering, bone-numbing cold. Greasy and leathery scales coiled all about him, squeezing gently.

"Sister?" he whispered, not daring to look at her.

 _Found you at lassst ... found you at lassst, without the one you call wanker knowing. Difficult, Dream Ssspeaker._

"But you did it, Sister," Draco chuckled and lay an affectionate hand on her sinewy form. "Thank you. It was you, wasn't it? You petrified the cat last weekend."

 _I went all through the castle, and did not gaze! Alasss ... the water. The cat sssaw my reflection on my way back to the dark._

"You really do kill with your eyes, don't you? You did well to hold back."

 _But I weaken, Dream Ssspeaker. How can I deny the very thing I was bred for? The mudbloodsss ... the hunt. I MUSSST HUNT!_

He held her tighter and whispered soothingly. "Don't give up now! I swear, we can stop him if you just contain yourself a bit longer."

She wavered.

 _You give me ordersss ... yet I can only obey the Heir._ Sister stopped hissing as the sound of stone grinding on stone echoed through the air. Someone was opening a part of the Chamber. Her body twitched all over. _I am called. I am called to hunt!_

"If you kill someone, they'll kill _you!"_ Draco cried. "And it will only cause trouble for your old master's house!"

Sister sounded conflicted, exhausted. _The third floor corridor, Dream Ssspeaker ... I smell filthy blood there already. I cannot hold back ... you must sssave them yourself!_

He bolted awake in a state of heart-pounding terror. Save a mudblood himself?! Malfoys didn't do things themselves! Especially when it involved personal risk. That was why his family had wards! Adjutants! House-elves ...

Wait a moment. He could call a house-elf! Father once told him that they were the only creatures who could apparate in or out of Hogwarts, but only to use that knowledge in an emergency ... and this certainly qualified. He couldn't try it in the dorms or the common room, that was too risky; but as soon as he found a more private place. He barely noticed the familiar silver glow around his wand as he scrambled out of bed and threw an emerald green dressing-robe on.

No sooner had he wondered where Luna was when he saw her arrive in the common room at the same time he did. She wore a different nightdress, white with lots of lace. She looked tired and glum, staring at her drawn wand. It glowed just as brightly as his.

"You summoned me," she said dully. "I think that's how it works, at least. I've never used it before."

Never used what? Something was really bothering her; Draco saw that now, but there was no time to ask about it.

"Luna, I need your help. I just had another dream. Someone's about to get killed on the third floor!"

Her eyes cleared as he took her by the hand and they rushed out of the chamber, down the dank hallway to the conference room where Nick's Deathday Party had been held. Fortunately, it was empty.

"I trust you have a plan," said Luna.

"Not half. _Dobby!"_

He didn't have to call twice this time. In fact he got two elves for the price of one: Dobby himself and the taller Bitsy, with whom he appeared to be fighting. She was gripping his ear while he braced his hands on her chest and tried to push her away. Bitsy tilted her head when she saw him while Dobby blanched with fear.

"What in Herpo's name are you two nitwits doing? Oh, never mind." Draco briefly considered each of them. Dobby was the more stable and dependable of the two when he wasn't moaning and whining to himself about some perceived slight. Besides, his mother would never forgive him if something went wrong and Bitsy got killed. "There's a monster loose in the third-floor corridor and I need you to save a mudblood's life."

Dobby's already tennis ball-sized eyes grew even bigger. His jaw nearly hit the floor. "M-master and Little Master are ... are meaning to _save_ other little humans from the Chamber? To _stop_ elf-abusing dark wizards? Truly?"

"That's what I bloody well just said, isn't it? Now hurry!"

 _"Oooooohhhhh!"_ Dobby wailed mournfully, falling to his knees and grasping reverentially at Draco's feet. "Dobby is being so foolish! Dobby is bad, awful, disloyal elf! Burn hands with iron, burn _feet_ with iron he must! If Dobby has any notion what a kind wizard Little Master is, he never is approaching Harry Potter ... "

Draco's grey eyes blazed 'til they were almost white. "You told _Harry Potter_ about this?!"

The elf sobbed and clung to him tighter, clearly in no condition to do his job.

Bitsy scoffed. "Dobby is being rightly ashamed. Bitsy must go to save unworthy mudblood."

"All right. But be careful, you little nutter," Draco sighed.

She smiled and blinked away to the third floor.

So did everyone else.

"What the ... Bitsy, you weren't supposed to take us _with_ you!" Draco was goggle-eyed. "How do you have that kind of power? We weren't even standing beside you!"

"Bitsy gets lots of time to practise! Come on, come on, Little Master! Malfoys fear no dark magic!" She seized his arm with surprising strength and dragged him down the hall with her, his other hand windmilling desperately at his side.

"Mad elf! Mad elf! Kidnapping! Somebody help me!"

Luna just shrugged and jogged after them, seeming not to care where she was or what might happen to her. Dobby was standing uncertainly in the corridor when, suddenly, his face screwed up in confusion and he put his ear to the ground. His eyes popped. "It comes ... _it comes!_ Wait for Dobby, Little Master!"

He raced after the others as fast as his little feet could carry him.

* * *

"I mean it, Colin. You shouldn't be wandering about the corridors at this time of night," Hermione Granger said. Her voice was kind but firm as she ushered the overzealous first-year boy back towards Gryffindor Tower.

"I just wanted to bring him these grapes ... "

"And get yet another picture of him, no doubt. It can wait 'til tomorrow, and I'm sure Harry is asleep by now anyway. Go on now, quickly. I'll just stay here a minute longer to make sure no prefects are coming our way."

He pouted and shuffled upstairs. Hermione sighed, scanning the dark hall with her nut-brown eyes. She might as well be a prefect herself, as often as she had to remind her housemates to actually study for their exams and follow the most basic rules around here! She rather wished Percy Weasley and the others would let younger students accompany them on their rounds like the Slytherins did, but if that boy was going to groom anyone it was likely to be one of his brothers. Never mind that they didn't know the first thing about discipline; they nearly incited a riot after the Quidditch loss today.

She wondered what Malfoy was doing right now. Probably kicking his feet up and celebrating his victory. He didn't seem to mind her at all these days, since they made their deal; the one who really puzzled her was his friend Luna. She talked on and on about the strangest creatures and ideas, didn't care for Hermione at all, and couldn't _stand_ Harry Potter. Hermione could tell by the way she reacted when he was near: her posture got stiff and then excessively relaxed, while her demeanor became even more remote and impenetrable than usual. She insisted on calling Potter by his full name, declaiming it loudly in order to draw as much attention as possible, knowing it drove him crazy. And yet she was best friends with Ginevra, who adored Harry Potter, or had 'til recently. Why hadn't she been seen since the game, or asked after Harry at all? Never mind her congratulating Malfoy and Lovegood ...

"Your name, girl."

She gasped. Standing behind her was a tall dark young man with curly hair and solemn eyes, most likely a seventh-year. A prefect's badge gleamed on the front of his Slytherin robes. Hermione had seen him before a few times, but what was he doing so close to Gryffindor Tower?

"Wh-what?" she asked him, still trying to breathe normally again.

"It is past curfew," he said impatiently, "And you are out of bounds. I want your name."

"Hermione Granger, sir."

"Hmm," the prefect frowned. "Not the kid who got top marks last year?"

A flicker of hope. "Yes! That's me."

The young man looked at his watch. "Well, you're close enough to your common room, I suppose. I'm letting you off with a warning. Go on, move."

Hermione broke into a smile. This was the most forgiving prefect she'd ever run into, whoever he was! She turned to go back up the stairs. "Thank you very much!"

"Granger," he said sharply, stopping her. "That way."

He pointed down the corridor towards the bathroom, where there wasn't another stairway for many meters. Why would he make her take the long way? Still, he had just done her a favor, so she was hardly in a position to argue.

"Yes, sir," she said, and walked briskly down the hall.

That was unexpected ... but then a lot of things were different this year, and she didn't have to look far for proof. Close to her elbow, easily concealed by the sleeve of a robe or a jumper like the red one she wore now, was a very Gryffindor-ish gold band. Only when subjected to a point-blank _lumos_ did it display the Malfoy family crest as proof of her connection to Draco. He'd given it to her after they signed the contract and it came in quite handy a few days ago; Crabbe and Goyle had chosen to block her path into the castle as she and Neville Longbottom were coming back late from herbology. (Professor Sprout's stories about the exotic plants she'd worked with were so fascinating!) For some reason the simple act of exposing the inside of her forearm made both boys uneasy, but when they saw that logo they nearly dropped their teeth. Hermione took Longbottom and strode right by them into the school. He had seen the crest but must not have recognised it, because he asked her what it meant. Hermione said she would tell him later. She wasn't ready for anyone in her house to know about this.

For one shining moment, she'd actually felt proud. Proud of being associated with Draco, of all things! And she had a brief respite from the nagging doubts she'd always kept hidden from everyone else: y _ou really don't belong here, your parents are scared of magic and will pull you out of Hogwarts any day now, you're a filthy little mudblood, not even Harry and Ron ever listen to you, you're a nightmare honestly ..._

Hermione picked up speed as soon as she was around the corner and out of sight. She passed several torches and a shadowed alcove and was getting closer to the bathroom when the stones beneath her feet gave a sudden jolt. She lost balance and fell forward onto her hands and knees.

What on earth could that be? It wasn't stopping either; the floor seemed to _throb,_ as if something very large were ... not walking exactly, but grinding along. And then they appeared on the wall ahead of her: several quick, running shadows cast by the torch-light. People were coming towards her around the corner. She could hear their heavy breathing and footsteps. She backed away ...

"Hermione!"

She stopped. It was none other than Draco Malfoy, who came flying round the opposite corner with a hollow-eyed Luna Lovegood and two house-elves—creatures she had never seen before except in books. And on the wall behind them was the largest shadow of all, growing larger every second. The vibrations increased ...

 _"Run, Granger!"_ Draco shouted, grabbing her around the shoulders and pulling her with him. "Run for your life and don't look behind you!"

They sped down the hall, but they weren't fast enough. A hateful, threatening hiss sounded far too close behind them, and Hermione fought the impulse to turn and look. Before they could even reach the alcove something cold and huge and muscular swept their feet out from under them, and as the cool stone floor knocked the air out of her body she knew this might be the end. Someone was lying on top of her, smelling of smoke and expensive soap: Malfoy. Even now he was trying to protect her, obscuring her vision from the thing that must be looming over them.

From the corner of her eye she saw Luna lying on the floor. The blonde drew her already-glowing wand from behind her ear and, keeping her eyes tightly shut, shouted: _"Lumos ultima!"_

Hermione's world turned a beautiful, blinding silver.

There was light, and there was _bright_ light, but this was beyond anything a witch's wand should produce. Like an impossibly bright sun shining through thick fog, it was simply too much to take in, and it wasn't even directed at her. Luna shouted an order, and the one sun became two as Malfoy drew his wand, then three as someone jumped out of the alcove behind them. Their pursuer took the full brunt of the spell, and through the haze Hermione saw the shape of an enormous fanged serpent, thrashing about in pain before retreating the way it had come.

There was a stunned silence as each of them confirmed they were still alive and in one piece. She felt Draco breathing hard. A few strands of his slicked-back hair had escaped and tickled her face as he mumbled an apology and offered his hand. She took it and rose to her feet.

Ginevra was looking down the hall where the monster had fled but after a moment she snapped out of it and saw to Luna, still lying on the floor and staring at her wand.

"Luna ... are you all right?"

She nodded and rose unsteadily to her feet.

"How did you _do_ that? I've never seen a light spell like that one."

Luna looked exhausted as she replaced her wand behind her left ear. "I shouldn't wonder," she said mysteriously.

Hermione's heart was still racing. "Never mind the spell ...what was that horrible thing?!"

"You don't suppose that Selwyn had anything to do with it?" Ginevra said, shuddering. "I knew there was something I didn't like about him. Other than him blocking the easiest path back to the Tower of course. Then I just hid waiting for him to leave, and he never did! It's like he was waiting for you to show up, Hermione."

Draco's head snapped towards her. "I'll thank you not to make insinuations like that about one of my housemates, Ginevra! Richard is from a widely respected family."

"I'm just telling you what I saw, Draco. I'm not saying he was involved, but ... "

"He told me to go this way," Hermione whispered. "I was about to go up the stairs and he stopped me. It didn't make any sense until now."

A deeply troubled look came over Draco's face. He jumped when a miserable Bitsy intervened with a tug on his robe. "Bitsy is so very sorry, Little Master, for getting carried away. There is not being any excuse for allowing him and his Loonytunes to fall into such danger."

"Dobby and Bitsy both make mistakes tonight," Dobby said, trying to cheer her up. "But we should be taking you out of this hallway. We are not knowing if monster is coming back."

He took the sleeves of Draco and Hermione. Bitsy did the same for Luna and Ginevra, and in a blink they were gone.

Moments later, Richard Selwyn crept over to where they'd been standing. He looked into the mirror shard and spoke.

"You have heard for yourself, sir. You understand now what we are up against."

 _"Never trust a filthy animal to do a dark wizard's job,"_ the voice said bitterly. _"But the magic that girl used ... I don't recognise that incantation."_

Selwyn rubbed his eyes. "Nor I, sir. I wish we could have seen it for ourselves, but ... the basilisk."

 _"Quite. Well, it is no matter. This will require proper handling. I trust you will think of methods to ..._ dissuade _these young, misguided pure-bloods from their course. The alternative being that I shall dissuade your soul from residing within your brainless, excessively scrubbed body. Do I make myself clear?"_

* * *

The kitchens were warm and inviting, and much quieter after midnight; only a few school elves were there, doing cleanup duty for tomorrow's breakfast. The four children had looked at each other awkwardly for a bit. What exactly could they say after sharing a near-death experience? Finally Ginevra broke the ice by telling Dobby she'd seen him in the hospital wing earlier that night, and the elf quickly spilled everything: he had warned Harry Potter of terrible danger at Hogwarts and tried to keep him from going back, but said nothing about the monster. It could have been much worse.

"I suppose our Quidditch team owes you one for that bludger anyhow," Draco snickered. For whatever reason, he didn't feel like chastising Dobby as he had in the past. "Stay away from Potter and trust me to handle our family's responsibilities, if you please, and I'll not tell mother and father about this."

A relieved Dobby bowed to him over and over. "Yes, yes, Little Master, you have Dobby's word that he is leaving Harry Potter alone! Harry Potter, friend to magical creatures everywhere, is quite safe with Little Master and his friends protecting the school."

Hermione's eyes filled up with tears as she watched them. " You really meant what you said, didn't you?" she asked Draco in a trembly sort of voice. "About protecting me."

He shuffled his feet self-consciously. "Well ... that is ... I didn't really _mean_ to have to do it myself, but ... it's nothing really."

"Thank you," she said, throwing her arms around his neck before he could stop her. Then, in a whisper only he could hear: "Lord Malfoy."

Draco broke into a small but genuine smile as she stepped back. Hearing that again was almost worth risking his life.

They all sat down at the table. At Draco's bidding Dobby and Bitsy gladly rustled up some hot cocoa from the kitchens, or rather Dobby rustled it up while Bitsy tripped over herself and talked animatedly with the Hogwarts elves. Hermione was scowling, having just recalled the first research she'd conducted for Draco.

"A giant snake," she said quietly.

Draco gulped. Luna was unreadable.

"You _knew,_ didn't you?"

"Knew what?"

"Come now, Malfoy! You asked me to research a giant snake, and tonight I was almost killed by one. That can't be a coincidence. And Mrs. Norris ... that's got something to do with it too, hasn't it? The snake is Salazar Slytherin's monster! _That's_ what he put in the Chamber of Secrets!"

Draco turned pale. "And how did _you_ know about that?"

"Professor Binns told us in class, after I pestered him."

"I should have known. You're enough to try the patience of a saint, why not a ghost?"

"All this business about a snake, and making me promise to keep your secrets— _that's_ why you did it! You knew all along! Does that mean that you ... _you're_ the Heir of ... "

"Hermione!" he said sternly, holding out his hands in a placatory gesture. "Use your reason. If I were the Heir of Slytherin, would I have asked you to help me find out what the monster was?"

She breathed in and out slowly.

"Of course I wouldn't. If I were the Heir, I could access the Chamber and see it for myself. Furthermore, if I were the Heir and wanted to destroy my enemies, would I be associating with a muggleborn at all, much less saving her from my own monster?"

Hermione looked embarrassed. "No ... no, of course not. I apologise. Ron and Harry really were hoping it was you. I guess I'll have to disappoint them."

Draco shook his head. "No. I mean it. Don't say a word to them, Granger. Let them think it was me if they want to. You're required to keep what you know of my family business private, and if taking it upon myself to save an adjutant of the Malfoys isn't family business, I don't know what is."

She huffed and stared down at her hot chocolate.

"You may not like it, but what you've learned here doesn't leave this room."

"And I ask the same thing of you, Ginevra," added Luna. "Unless you'd care to tell us what you were doing out after curfew, and what was on that funny parchment you were holding."

Ginevra had been about to disagree, but she snapped her mouth shut and pouted.

"We won't pry into that, if you agree to keep this quiet."

" ... Fine. I still can't believe you're working for him, Hermione. I mean, what does he have you do? Run errands to Knockturn Alley?"

Draco soured. "That's not funny, Ginevra. And for the record, that place is far more than the ass end of Diagon Alley. It's also one of the most precious resources in all of Britain. From what I've heard of your activities lately, you seem like the type that could benefit very much from it."

Ginevra's eyes narrowed. "I'm no dark witch, Malfoy."

"Never said you were. But I recognise that look in your eye these days. You want power, and you don't mind bending the rules to get what you want. People like that can go far in this world, dark or not, and I can help you with that."

"I'll think about it. But back to the subject, Draco: if the monster isn't yours, how did you know when and where it was going to attack?"

That was a problem. What was he going to tell them? That he _dreamed_ it?

"You might say we have inside information," Luna said, saving him. "Unfortunately we do not know who the Heir is, so we don't yet know who to trust. There are students in our house who would be quite unhappy with us if they knew we were helping muggleborns."

"That's why we need you. We can't do this alone, and we have to stop that damn snake without anyone else finding out."

Ginevra looked thrilled at that prospect. Hermione was horrified. "That's ridiculous, Malfoy! If we know something, we should go to Professor Dumbledore with it."

"We have no evidence other than hearsay, and if he believes us he'll use it to drag our house through the mud. If you're going to stop a Slytherin plot, you need to think like a Slytherin. And for that, we have someone even better than Dumbledore to help us." Draco smirked and let the anticipation build. "We have my father, Lucius Malfoy."

Ginevra just laughed. "Don't be silly, Draco! The same man who got in a fight with my dad?"

"And insulted my parents?" Hermione added with a glare. "He'd kill you if he knew you were working with Gryffindors, especially a muggleborn one."

"He won't kill me," Draco said smugly. "I'm his only son. He'd settle for hexing me. But there are certain ... _circumstances_ in this case that will make him see reason. You might even say that—"

"Someone is coming," Luna whispered.

They all jumped up from the table, but they were too late. The door to the kitchens opened, and in walked none other than Albus Dumbledore.

His evening robes were a brilliant red and white. A long sleeping cap sat jauntily upon his head, with gold tassels that were almost as long as his beard. His blue eyes glinted with a trace of surprise, then became deceptively casual as he sat down at the long table.

"Why, good evening, fellow Gryffindors. Slytherins. House-elves. I just dropped in for a cup of hot chocolate. It would seem that all of you had the same idea."

"Er ... hello, Headmaster. Quite sorry to disturb your midnight cocoa run; we'll get out of your hair," Draco babbled nervously.

"By all means, join me," the old man said, with an undertone that brooked no argument. "I rarely have the honour of entertaining students at this time of night, and we may have much to discuss."

"L-like what ... sir?" Ginevra tried to be polite, but her trust in one of her family's oldest and closest friends had been rattled since Hallowe'en night. Dumbledore had sat at her parents' table on a few occasions, trading jokes and stories with dad, inquiring into Charlie's dragon-raising ... but everything she'd learned from the diary was warning her against him. It was not a good feeling. Would he be able to _see_ Tom if he went prying into her mind? Somehow she knew that would not end well. If only she'd kept the Map out; then she would have seen him coming.

Draco and Luna were similarly tight-lipped. Hermione looked at the other three in puzzlement. Perhaps some of the man's actions were morally questionable, but she had just narrowly escaped a very dangerous situation, and ... Draco would still trust him to protect the school, wouldn't he?

"Remember our contract," he muttered in her ear.

Hermione sagged. Her lips, perforce, were sealed.

"Conversation is such a lost art these days, don't you think? Even I have just about forgotten how to properly begin one. So you'll forgive me, Mr. Malfoy, if I dispense with formalities such as congratulating you on your victory today. May I ask just how you found out that house-elves can manage side-along apparition on school grounds, and how long you have been moving about the castle in this manner?"

Draco's voice shook. "I c-can't say ... P-professor."

"And why not, my boy?"

The few Hogwarts elves present were bustling aimlessly around on the other side of the room, watching them with great interest. A frying pan fell and clattered to the floor.

Dumbledore's gaze sharpened. Now Draco began to feel it. Like a sharp finger poking into his mind, filing through his feelings and impressions. He couldn't look away.

Then Luna and Ginevra stepped in front of him to break the eye contact.

"Professor, please!" Hermione protested. "Not again. This isn't right."

His eyes were sad as he looked at her. "Miss Granger, I believe a witch as bright as yourself can appreciate the difference in our experiences. With that in mind, allow me to pose you this question: if you could ensure the safety of many people by inconveniencing a mere few, would you do it?"

Draco was beginning to feel faint. _Why is the old coot on about about student safety? Does he suspect something? Did he learn something incriminating from just five seconds of eye contact?! That's it, I'm taking occlumency lessons from dad on my next summer holiday._

Hermione swallowed hard. She had not expected to end her evening by talking philosophy with the most powerful wizard on the planet. "I'm not sure. I ... I think that would depend on the situation."

"Please, explain," he invited her, taking a sip of his cocoa. Their mugs magically refilled, but none of the students was willing to approach the table again.

"In a situation where so much more could have been done earlier to keep people safe," Hermione said nervously. "Can one really trust their own judgment anymore?"

"When one has lasted twenty-eight years in their current position, do you think it logical to doubt their judgment?"

Luna whispered in Draco's ear. "Tell Miss Bitsy to get your father."

"This late? He'll be furious."

"Dumbledore is stalling. Anti-apparition charms take a few minutes to cast. Call him _now."_

Luna and Ginevra continued to block Draco from view as he bent down and whispered the order to a wide-eyed Bitsy. She nodded solemnly and blinked away without a sound.

After several exchanges of barbed questions with Dumbledore had gotten her nowhere, Hermione—fearing she was about to be expelled anyway—was working herself into a lather over the unsatisfying nature of certain classes. " ... And, sir, I don't know what we're trying to accomplish by bringing Gilderoy Lockhart here, because as much I admire him he's really not suited to teaching. Most of our assignments involve material from his books, and almost nothing about how to defend ourselves. And that's supposed to be the whole purpose of the class, you know, for there are only so many ways we can write about how great Gilderoy Lockhart is before we simply go numb—"

"Or fall asleep," said Ginevra.

"Or get wrackspurts," said Luna.

"Or get hexed in the halls by non-Slytherins because we haven't learned a simple _protego,"_ Draco added, standing well back of the exchange.

"He's making Harry act out scenes from his books. Last week he had to pretend to be the Wagga Wagga Werewolf while the whole class laughed at him. That's humiliating! This is supposed to be the class that saves our lives one day?" Hermione cried. "And then there's history! I thought that would be my favorite class when I came here. Here there was a whole world I never knew before, centuries old, and Professor Binns does nothing to make the material interesting! I get more enjoyment from reading my textbooks than listening to him. History is supposed to come alive for the students, to be connected to current events or it doesn't sink in, that's what my elementary history teacher told me—"

 _Pop._

This one came from five feet behind the Headmaster, forcing him to turn his chair to see who the four children (and Dobby) were staring at with varying degrees of trepidation.

Although it was the dead of night and Lucius Malfoy had likely been dragged from his bed only moments ago by the crazed elf who stood proudly beside him, his mastery of instant dressing and glamour charms could not be denied. Even his long blond hair was impeccable. He looked like a refugee from a garden party.

His mood, however, indicated otherwise.

"What," he said in a voice that could have frozen the torches on the wall, "Is the meaning of this?"


	12. The Light-Bearers

_A/N: In canon, Draco was all for the slaughtering of Muggleborns as long as he didn't have to do it himself. Yeah, he was rotten for wanting that, but at the same time I don't think the situation was quite "real" to him yet. Now that he's taking his own path and has seen the monster for himself, things are getting very real indeed, and Lucius will be able to do a lot more for him than just tell him to "keep his head down."_

 _You might be wondering how Selwyn is connected to the Chamber and the basilisk, and who is writing in the diary since it was stolen from Ginevra. I think those questions will be answered in the next few chapters. In the meantime let's see if Lucius can pull the kids out of the fire, and find out more about Luna's magic!_

* * *

duj: _I thought it was important that somebody call Dumbledore on what he's doing and just exercise some oversight. Lucius could have done that in canon if he'd played it smarter. Maybe Draco putting himself in the line of fire will force his dad to do the right thing._

guest#8/Philkins27 (ch.11): _Poor Sister. She's in a tough position here, trained to obey the Heir even though she dislikes him, but at the same time she has a soft spot for Draco. I'm surprised I've been able to update this story about once a week because I usually can't do that, but the plot and your feedback really help to keep it going._

gemsaysfeelings: _For a story that started out as a crackfic more or less, the plot has become surprisingly complex. I'm glad you're enjoying it, because I am too._

Sunset Whispers: _Summoning Lucius is a risk, but a necessary one. Dumbledore essentially has the kids at his mercy and will probably continue stalling them until he can stop the elves from apparating and successfully get into somebody's mind. If he finds out about the diary, their problems are just beginning._

ReadingnerdOtaku (ch.2/11): _That line in Chapter 2 was inspired by a cutscene in one of my favourite video games, Radiata Stories. Jack Russell becomes a knight and then finds out he has to sleep in a tiny, filthy room in the castle basement. He screams in horror and his roommate, not batting an eye, says "when you're done with the death wails, come in and get changed." Now that the group has openly interfered with Selwyn and the basilisk, they're_ _wading into deep waters and they need an adult to keep them from going under. In canon CoS, Harry didn't have that person. Draco, however ..._

* * *

 **XII: The Light-Bearers**

Draco was so relieved he wanted to rush over and hug his father for the second time that day. If only he could tell the man what was going on ... but as those grey eyes so much like his own took in the two house-elves, the frightened muggleborn girl standing next to them, and their obviously frazzled state, Draco could see he was connecting some of the dots. His gaze lingered a second longer on Ginevra, the very same girl to whom he'd slipped the diary. His impassive frown gave nothing away, but his eyes sparkled with complicity— _you got to her too, did you?_ —and Draco nodded smugly in response.

His friends' reactions were not quite so enthusiastic. Luna was examining the man curiously as though she never saw him before in her life. Ginevra glared daggers as she remembered her family's last encounter with Lucius. Hermione wasn't thrilled to see him either, for the same reason.

Dumbledore arranged his features into a cordial smile, but the twinkles in his eyes had retired for the evening. "Ahh, Lucius. To what do we owe the honour of your visit? Is there a Board of Governors meeting I was not informed of? If so, I can only hope the other members are not too far behind you."

"The other board members are asleep in their homes," Lucius drawled. His robes billowed as he swept around the table and took a seat directly opposite, positioning himself between the Headmaster and the children. "As I would be, had it not come to my attention that you were interrogating my son and three other students in the dead of night without witnesses."

"When my wards detect house-elves not in my employ apparating in and out of the school, and I find them in the kitchens with students after hours," Dumbledore said sportingly, hefting his cocoa, "My curiosity is naturally aroused."

 _What about when Dobby was feeding information to Saint Potter an hour ago?_ Draco thought, clenching his hands into fists behind his back. _You certainly didn't bother intervening then, did you?_

Lucius fingered his snake-head cane thoughtfully. "No doubt. My colleagues and I are well aware of the ... notable security breaches this school has endured. Of which four adolescents and two elves are almost certainly the least dangerous."

"But we must follow procedure, mustn't we Lucius? And now that you are here, I dare say a witness is no longer an issue. Perhaps you could even be of assistance in this matter."

Lucius glanced at his son. Draco shook his head slowly. The politician smirked like a cold draught as if he had just remembered something.

"Now you mention it, Professor, I believe I can ... though it causes me no small amount of embarrassment."

"You have learned how to cope with that, I think."

Ginevra eyed the two men and soaked up as much information as she could. It was plain to see they detested each other, yet they never let it show on their faces. There was no overt hostility. It was cloak-and-dagger politics; concealing what you really wanted to say behind decorum and polite words. She'd seen her parents do it with a few of her father's less favoured associates, but never so gracefully. It might be a skill worth learning.

"Tell me, Professor ... do you happen to read our official house newsletter?"

"But of course," Dumbledore replied, nodding in Luna's direction. "Mr. Harper is one of your classmates, no, Miss Lovegood? I make it a point to examine his work very closely. You may tell him that from me ... I'm sure he'd be excited to hear it."

"I doubt it, sir," Luna said dryly.

Lucius rolled his slate-grey eyes heavenward, as if imploring Salazar to preserve him from snakes so lacking in guile they didn't bother to be polite to nosy headmasters. Then he gathered himself, brushed some imaginary lint from the front of his immaculate robes, and proceeded to play everyone in the room like a fiddle.

"My point, sir, is that you no doubt saw their full report on the _unfortunate_ Hallowe'en vandalism," he said with barely disguised pleasure that gave way to contempt as he gestured to Draco. "I fear that my son and Miss Lovegood took Mr. Harper's call for a truce with Gryffindor quite literally and, in ... _associating_ ... with these other young ladies, were attempting to investigate the matter themselves. After curfew, no less. Draco mentioned this possibility in his last letter to me, but I believed he was joking. Evidently I was mistaken."

He affected a murderous look at his son. It was so convincing that it even gave Dumbledore pause. Draco, understanding his role immediately, played it to the hilt by backing up a step and almost tripping over Dobby.

"Evidently," said a startled Dumbledore, whose fun had been thoroughly spoiled now that Lucius was playing the bad (or rather, worse) cop. "However, things have changed since you and I were students here, and there is something to be said for cooperation between houses."

"Your sentiments are admirable, sir," Lucius said, in an indulgent moment that dripped with insincerity. "However, I fear that certain influences in this school are distracting the boy from his obligations. He has yet to learn the value of restraint. He had neither my consent in this ill-advised plan, nor my permission to use our house-elves. All I can do is extend my personal apology for his foolishness, and assure you that he will be disciplined ... "

Here he brought his walking-stick down on the stone floor with a sinister _thud,_ as though he were barely restraining himself from physical violence.

 _" ... Accordingly."_

"I do assure you, Lucius, that _we_ shall take initiative in letting the punishment fit the crime," Dumbledore said firmly with a concerned glance at Draco. "Miss Weasley and Miss Granger, I shall require you to serve an hour of detention tomorrow evening with Professor Snape. As for young Mr. Malfoy and Miss Lovegood, you will serve two hours of detention on the same night ... in the Forbidden Forest. And, in the spirit of cooperation, fifty points shall be docked from both houses."

Hermione opened her mouth to object but was silenced by a nudge from Draco. Luna looked at Ginevra and put a finger to her lips.

"A wise decision, Headmaster," the dark wizard said grudgingly. His posture slowly relaxed. "In a situation like this, I believe a strong hand is needed. I do appreciate your willingness to consult me on this matter rather than using, shall we say, other means to discover the truth. I cannot count the number of times we on the Board of Governors have tried to fathom what _you_ were thinking, in certain cases ... "

Dumbledore's raised eyebrow indicated he had not missed the challenge in that statement.

"But as you have just said yourself, we must follow procedure by respecting each other's privacy. Some might consider the alternative ... unseemly."

Clearly, unseemliness was a high crime in pure-blood society.

"True. Though others might simply consider it cunning," Dumbledore said smoothly. "I thank you for your input, Lucius. You've been most helpful in clearing up this matter."

Draco didn't have to fake his peaked, stricken expression at the prospect of another detention in those woods. But if it was necessary to disarm Dumbledore, then so be it. If the old man found out what had really happened his investigation would uncover the diary and the jig, as they said, would be up.

"You are welcome, Headmaster. Though I recognise the lateness of the hour, if you'd be so kind as to withhold your spell preventing house-elf apparition for a short while, I should like to escort these children back to their dorms to ensure that my _dear_ son involves them in no further disasters."

"An admirable sentiment, though I'm sure you will understand if I summon a prefect to assist you. Not that I do not trust you with the children's safety, but it would be unfortunate if you were to take any wrong turns ... ahh." Dumbledore stood up to answer a firm knock on the door. "There he is now. Enter!"

A quiet, brown-haired, and fantastically dull prefect from Hufflepuff stepped in. The sight of Lucius seemed to unnerve him somewhat. Dumbledore introduced him as one Edmund Spiers.

"Please help Mr. Malfoy escort these children back to their respective common rooms and see to it that his house-elves apparate him safely out of Hogwarts," Dumbledore ordered, conveying his distrust of the man and saddling him with a half-blood chaperone in one fell swoop. "The wards being open to house-elves was an oversight on my part, one that shall be rectified in thirty minutes, so ... do make haste. Good night to you, Lucius."

The Malfoy men and their elves marched out of the kitchens behind Spiers, while the girls trailed nervously after them.

"Thank you," Draco whispered to his father.

"Never mind that," Lucius said in a low voice. "Before you explain what in Slytherin's name happened tonight, tell me: how much of this can we keep from the Gryffindors?"

"Only the book. The rest is out of the bag."

His father glowered. Clearly that was not the answer he wanted.

"Tonight could have gone so much worse than it did. Please, father ... trust me on this one."

Lucius nodded hesitantly. In full view of the girls, he unfastened the metal serpent head of his cane—which, they saw, was merely the handle of his elm wand. He waved it in a complicated pattern and cast a silent incantation. He gave his son an affectionate clap on the shoulder and spoke to the girls ... not _kindly,_ but perhaps as politely as he had ever addressed a Weasley or a muggleborn in his life.

"A _muffliato_ charm," he explained, returning the wand to its hiding place. "Mr. Spiers shall not clearly hear or remember anything we say while in his company, nor shall any other prying ears. We've much to discuss before I return to the Manor, and we need not attract any more attention than is necessary."

Luna nodded, Hermione gaped, and a sly smile crept over Ginevra's face.

"You were pretending back there, weren't you, Mr. Malfoy?" she said, unable to disguise her admiration. "You're not upset with Draco at all. You know what he's doing!"

"In the broad strokes, yes," he said blithely, motioning for them to keep up with Spiers so the boy didn't get suspicious. "Being scions of a great legacy gives us access to vast amounts of information. We have suspected for years that the Chamber of Secrets does in fact exist, and as a family we all agree that it would be unfortunate if any muggleborns today were to suffer for Salazar Slytherin's misguided actions."

Draco nodded firmly. "It's a long story, but the short version is that yes, the man did breed the creature we saw tonight and yes, he was out of his mind at the time."

"Pure-bloods we may be. Slytherins we may be, and quite proud to say so. But my own regrettable past is just that: past. And my son has no desire to repeat my mistakes. But as he _does_ share my unfortunate habit of exaggerating his accomplishments, I think perhaps I should learn what happened tonight from you."

The two Gryffindors were still a tad intimidated. Ginevra's parents had warned her repeatedly never to speak to this man, and Hermione still wouldn't look him in the eye. Luna took the initiative.

"A pleasure to see you again, Mr. Malfoy," she curtsied, drawing surprised looks from the other girls. "Would you believe me if I said we just came within spitting distance of Salazar Slytherin's monster and lived?"

Ginevra and Hermione couldn't resist jumping in from there, and by the time they got close to Gryffindor Tower, the dark wizard had gotten an earful. He was still ruminating grimly over their brush with death when Ginevra remembered something else.

"Luna, what was that spell you used anyway? I saw that same light after the Quidditch game."

Luna's melancholy returned. She just shook her head and leaned against Draco, who was starting to realize that light had nothing to do with his father and everything to do with the diminutive girl beside him.

"I think it's a personal matter, girls. When she's ready," he told them.

Ginevra didn't pry into it any further. "Fair enough. I'm sorry if the question bothered you, Luna. I just wish we all had a secret weapon like that; Merlin knows we could use it in this place. That reminds me, Mr. Malfoy ... can't you do something about Dumbledore? I don't agree with you and your son about everything, but Draco is right when he talks about all the awful things that happen here on his watch, all the students he must have questioned this way over the years ... and we're the lucky ones! How many other children have parents on the board who could come to their rescue like you did?"

"Ginevra, I'm sure you're overreacting. With all the strange rumours going around about the Chamber, the Heir of Slytherin, and You-Know-Who coming back ... " Hermione glanced nervously at Mr. Malfoy as she said this, but got no reaction. "Professor Dumbledore has to be cautious. I don't agree with the legilimency, but it must be the only way he can get information sometimes."

"He wouldn't have that problem if the students here really trusted him, now would he, Hermione?" Draco chimed in—and his casual use of her first name _did_ get a reaction from Lucius, which he tried his best to ignore. "But they don't, and with good reason."

Though Luna's shoulders sagged with exhaustion from the mysterious spell she had cast, there was enough spark left in her eyes to challenge Hermione. "It's muggleborn you are, Granger, and so you may not know the ins and outs of magical politics, but you'll be dealing with them all your life. Would you rather deal with a politician who tells you what he is, like Mr. Malfoy? Or one who hides away in a castle behind the title of Headmaster?"

"Luna, you know very well I'm willing to help as it doesn't involve betraying my friends. But I'm not going to participate in a plot to unseat Professor Dumbledore just because I'm an adjutant!"

Lucius' eyes grew wide as dollars at the first sentence; at the second, he sagged so heavily on his walking-stick that he nearly fell.

"Both of you, calm down!" said a slightly alarmed Draco. "Luna, it's not fair to insist that Hermione make a decision before she has all the information she needs. Father and I will fill her in when we get a chance. And Hermione, you will _not_ address a pure-blood Slytherin by her given name again. Understood?"

"But ... "

 _"Understood,_ Hermione?" Draco caught her eye and glanced meaningfully in Lucius' direction.

Realising that Draco had to toe the line with his father present, she swallowed her pride. "Yes, Lord Malfoy."

"About Selwyn, sir," Ginevra said, breaking the awkward silence that followed. "The prefect?"

"What of him, Miss Weasley?"

"I was hiding in the corridor, listening when he ordered Hermione to go down the hall where the monster came from. I'm not saying he's the Heir, but it seems as good a place as any to start. Please find out everything you can about him."

He nodded curtly. "I shall do so. My next letter to Draco will be enchanted with a different message for each of you, one that no one else will be able to read without permission. A tried but true method of exchanging information secretly, not to mention saving parchment."

"I should like to learn that someday, sir," Hermione said politely.

"You all shall learn many things. Though you must forgive me if at times I seem reluctant to volunteer information. It is, after all, anathema to many Slytherins. And it is the same reason I oppose the Headmaster's methods of information-gathering. The privacy of one's thoughts should always be respected."

They stopped close to the Gryffindor common room.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Ginevra was compelled to ask before she and Hermione went in. He regarded her cagily, for it was in her eyes that curiosity burned brightest. "How _does_ a Slytherin think?"

"All Slytherins think differently, being individuals," Lucius replied. "And our house makes more allowances for that than any other. A better question would be, what do all Slytherins have in common? And the answer would be moral flexibility. If I choose to do something, I can make it right in my own mind. I do not need to make it right in someone else's ... except, perhaps, for my lady wife's ... because I am not trying to make them happy. By serving my own interests, I serve Slytherin interests. This is no doubt why my son offered adjutancy to Miss Granger without consulting me—by which I am surprised, though not offended ... "

Hermione relaxed a little.

" ... And it's the same reason some other Slytherin is facilitating the targeting of muggleborns by Salazar's monster. Because it serves _their_ interests. For various reasons, it does not serve ours. This will be a struggle, but I have every confidence that we shall prevail. We shall waste no time in developing a more comprehensive plan to protect muggleborn students at this school. In that, all of you will have my support."

As he already had a plan with Draco, Luna, and Xeno, he said this mainly for the lions' benefit. The girls politely said goodnight and ran off to the Fat Lady's portrait while Edmund Spiers, oblivious to everything they'd been saying, led the Slytherins back to the dungeons.

"Our thirty minutes are nearly gone," said Lucius. "Both of you have done brilliantly. But remember that you are not Gryffindors. Attempting a rescue in person was unspeakably dangerous and, Draco, I advise you not to tell your mother about it lest she kill the both of us with her bare hands. Now that Dumbledore will be barring house-elf apparition, your options will be limited. I made myself look like a monster tonight so that you and your friends would seem innocent by contrast. Do not arouse the Headmaster's suspicions again. Do not tell the Weasley girl too much, and keep the Granger girl close to you. She is no longer safe in the corridors, especially at night. Use every contact you have to spread that recommendation to the other muggleborns here as well, without drawing unnecessary attention to Slytherin. Their lives may depend on it. And on a lighter note ... "

The snakes looked up expectantly.

"I have it on good authority that Professor Lockhart shall be starting a Duelling Club during this term. The Headmaster is minded to delay it until December for reasons that escape me now, but I believe the Board can exert enough pressure to get the date moved up. Tell your housemates so that they will have time to prepare. Do Slytherin proud. And son, while we still have much to discuss about your hiring an adjutant among other things ... it is clear to me that you are taking your responsibilities far more seriously this year—academically, socially, and otherwise. Do not stop."

Draco nodded fiercely, blinking tears out of his eyes.

He turned to the elves and took their hands, glancing at Dobby's bandaged fingers. "Dobby, when we get home we must have a talk about using the iron for ironing. If you are so keen to punish yourself, you might consider listening to your mistress' singing."

Dobby looked embarrassed; Bitsy snorted with laughter. A moment later, all three of them were gone.

* * *

Hermione Granger was having the strangest weekend of her entire life.

Yesterday her house lost its first Quidditch game with Harry as the seeker, Draco Malfoy and his friends saved her life, and she might have come face to face with the Heir of Slytherin. Today she was brewing an illegal potion in a bathroom stall.

 _Why_ was she brewing an illegal potion in a bathroom stall? Because Potter and Weasley, despite the hints she had been dropping for a few weeks now, insisted on believing Draco was the heir and infiltrating the Slytherin common room to confirm it. Hermione had doubted this theory from the start, and after the events of last night it seemed patently ridiculous. But _Moste Potente Potions_ was already checked out from the library's Restricted Section, the ingredients already stolen, the potion already brewing, and ... well, it just felt good to have her friends appreciate her for something.

But it was still bloody ridiculous.

"You know what I think?" Weasley was saying as he deposited dead lacewings on top of leeches with surprising skill. He was actually a decent student when he tried, which wasn't nearly often enough. "I think Lucius Malfoy must've opened the Chamber himself when he was at school, and now his precious little son has inherited the job!"

 _I think you two are letting your immature schoolboy feud distort your view of reality. Honestly, Draco is so busy leading his house and doing the right thing for once that he hardly cares about you anymore!_

"We just need to know what kind of monster it is and how it's getting around before a student gets attacked," Potter said confidently.

 _A student's already been attacked! It's a giant snake, for crying out loud! I just need to get back into the Restricted Section and find out what kind of monster that is!_

Hermione wanted to tell them. She _ached_ to tell them what happened to her last night, to show the boys how much more useful she could be, and she couldn't. She had signed an agreement with Draco that she had every intention of honouring, and so she sat like a good little girl and helped them brew the polyjuice. Maybe sneaking into the dungeons would still be useful if it meant getting dirt on Selwyn. But she was still frustrated. Her commitment to scholarship and refusal to condemn Slytherin were making her the third wheel in the Golden Trio.

"Don't you think it's strange how Mrs. Norris hasn't improved at all since Halloween?" she remarked in an effort to drop them another hint. "It's just as if she were scared stiff, like she saw something so awful she couldn't move. It must have been something quite large, I think. I've read all about oversize creatures and the magical world is full of them: the squid in the Black Lake, grubs, _snakes ... "_

"You read too much, Hermione," Weasley said rudely. He crumpled up the lacewing bag and turned to talk to Potter.

She felt a little stab of pain. It was the latest of many. Why did he always have to hurt her? And why didn't Potter ever stop him?

* * *

After last year's madness, it was Draco's personal opinion that whoever thought the Forbidden Forest was a proper place to have students serve detention should be Avara Kedavra'd by his crazy Aunt Bellatrix and left to rot there. It just might elevate the average intelligence level of the magical gene pool.

Not that he was scared of the place. Oh, no. He was terrified! He was unlikely to run into You-Know-Who again, but there were plenty of other creatures in there too horrible to describe. Luna didn't seem excited either as the two of them followed Hagrid into the forest. The burly, towering gamekeeper appeared highly suspicious of both children and gruffly told them they were going to search for signs of blood-sucking bugbears. The creatures were not dangerous to humans, but were known for targeting livestock, especially chickens.

"Lost one rooster ter them bugbears already, we 'ave," he growled. "At least I think it was them. Go on then, leg it. Moonlight's wasting."

Draco saved himself the trouble of telling the great oaf that this was an incredibly dangerous and irresponsible way to punish misbehaving students; he'd tried that a year ago and it hadn't done any good. Without a word he followed at Luna's side, and the Forest soon enveloped them in its gnarled embrace. His winter cloak was an elegant black with green lining while hers was violet, an old tatty thing that had likely belonged to her mother; he felt colder just looking at her. At least they had the moon to guide them; it was nearly full, its light uncannily similar to what Luna's wand had produced the other day. She'd been despondent and out of sorts ever since. He didn't understand why, but he felt that he had to find out after all that had happened between them. If she didn't want him to care, then she shouldn't have dropped into his life and changed everything round. The person he remembered being the last time he walked among these trees seemed like a stranger now; cruel, callous, closed-minded.

Truthfully part of him _did_ miss bullying and belittling inferior students on a regular basis, but with all that was going on it just wasn't worth the hassle anymore. Still he didn't mind taking a chunk out of Potter when the opportunity fell into his lap, nor did Luna mind joining in. Was she taking a cue from him or she did she have her own reasons to despise the tousle-haired glory hound? What exactly was the nature of their relationship, anyway? Who was in charge? Who was setting the pace? On the surface it appeared to be him; she deferred to his surname, made him tea and acted the part of a pure-blood witch. Beneath the surface it was murky. Inside of Luna was something not quite of this world, a spirit that would never bow to his will and was beyond his control. Somewhere along the way, Draco accepted that.

He just hoped she wasn't beyond his help.

When the half-giant inevitably split up from them with some deranged excuse about covering more ground, he dove into curiosity as a refuge from his fear. He and Luna never really had a proper sit-down and told each other about themselves, did they? With his previous friends it was unnecessary; they all grew up together. Luna was familiar enough with his family history through Xeno, and her penetrating intuition took care of the rest. Still ... now that they were alone again, maybe if he opened up to her a little, she would do the same for him. He decided to go about it Luna-style and just plunge right in.

"My father told me he was proud of me yesterday," he said. "After the game. I think that means more to me than anything. It was all I ever wanted when I was younger, just to make him proud. To attend his school and be sorted into his house, prove worthy of his name. He's everything I wanted to be."

She leaned forward, her attention completely undivided. He would have been unnerved by her stare if he didn't know her.

"But this year ... it's the first time I've really started to think. I think some muggleborns really are useful, and that even some blood traitors can be redeemed, and ... well, that being different is all right. I suppose because _I'm_ different now, thanks to you. You changed everything. It's hard to even imagine how this year would have gone if I never met you. But I suppose I would have stopped those infernal dreams without finding out what they meant, and I'd still want to do away with all the mudbloods, and I wouldn't have given father's letters about the diary a second thought ... and who knows what else? The point is, I'm glad I met you, Luna. I thought it was a disgrace when you were sorted here, did you know?"

"Yes," she said, untroubled. "I knew what you thought of me."

He let out a small cough of embarrassment. "Well, I was wrong. You're everything a Slytherin should be and more. And I'm proud to call you my friend."

Her fingertips rested briefly on his hand. "As I am proud to call you mine."

"Why did you approach us that day? On the train?"

She looked up, thinking hard. "I remember I was sitting with Ginevra at first, but she was tired and fell asleep very soon. Then her brothers were popping in and out all the time, which quite disturbed the peace. I was looking for an empty compartment, for I didn't know anyone else and I wanted a quiet place to read _The Quibbler._ When I saw you ... "

Luna fell silent for what seemed like a long time.

"To be quite honest, I'd always wanted to meet a veela in the flesh. That was the reason I came into your compartment."

He had to chuckle at that. "Oh, Merlin. Really?"

"I soon realised daddy was mistaken about the Malfoys' ancestry, because you had no obvious allure. But there was something that drew me, all the same, and I wanted to find out what you were truly like. How far I could push you. How far I could trust you."

"I see. Well, what's the verdict?" he tried to sound nonchalant, but his eyes must have given him away.

Luna leaned forward, straining to see something through the trees, and nodded as if she'd come to an important decision. She took Draco's hand and made for a small clearing nearby. He followed without question.

"There it is," she said, pointing straight ahead of them.

Draco looked, but the clearing was empty. "You know I don't always see the things you do, Luna."

"For a certain reason, this time," she said solemnly.

She led him into the clearing and lifted her hand, and Draco could have sworn it came to rest on something. There was an almost inaudible _thunk_ that he wouldn't have heard if not for the eerie silence of the woods. At first he thought he'd imagined it, but then Luna moved her hand as if she were petting something and the gentle _scrape, scrape_ was unmistakable then.

"Touch him. He won't mind."

Draco's hand quivered as she took it and extended it into thin air, and he brushed against something hard and cold and _moving,_ and he barely swallowed a scream as he drew back.

"He won't hurt you. You hear lots of stories but they never hurt anyone, really. I've been here before, and they've been nothing but kind to me."

"What won't hurt me? What _is_ it?" he demanded. He could still feel the chill on his fingertips.

"A thestral, of course."

His blood ran cold in the moonlight. Icarus Nott had taught him all about thestrals. Cursed beings, bringers of ruin; creatures visible only to those who had suffered grave misfortune, who fed on grief and sorrow just as the dementors of Azkaban Prison fed on happiness. And he had _touched_ one.

"I know what you're thinking. But you're wrong. They're not evil, Draco."

"Everyone says they are," he insisted, his voice a tight rasp of fear. He crouched unsteadily on the forest floor. He wanted to run, but he couldn't leave her.

Luna knelt beside him and placed a comforting hand on his back. "Not long ago, I met a creature with a very dark reputation. Something that everyone warned me was bad, and so I should stay away from it. But they were wrong. He is my best friend now."

He managed a timid smile.

"Besides, even if you both are as evil as they say, then you shall get on quite well indeed."

Gradually, she coaxed him to his feet and he extended his hand again. The thestral's coat was short and rough with cold bone underneath. It nuzzled him gently, snorting, and he realised this must be the snout. He was reaching as high as he could to find its head. This thing must be huge, much larger than a normal horse.

"In the magical world, even the things most feared and forbidden may be a useful part of the whole. It was these creatures that pulled your carriages on the way to the school."

"What?!" he hissed, aghast. "They exposed children to these things?"

"Be nice, Malfoy. You'll hurt his feelings. They can't help how they look, or that most wizards and witches can't see them at all. Only those who have seen someone die, so they say."

Draco looked at her.

"Yes," she said, though he hadn't asked. Her voice had become quiet, breathy, the words forming in a soft haze. She was shielding herself, putting the memory at a safe distance before she revealed it. "My mother, a week before my ninth birthday."

Her words felt like a blow to the chest. He had known her mother was dead; he never asked how she died, not wanting to bring back painful memories. But to _see_ it happen, out of nowhere ... for a moment he allowed himself to imagine his own mother dying in front of him, and even the next breath he took was painful. Draco didn't know if he could withstand something like that.

He saw tears on Luna's pale cheeks. They were involuntary, unnoticed, her body and her conscious mind as far apart as she could push them. Within that void was grief such as he had never known, tangible and suffocating.

"Daddy always said it was too dangerous. She was experimenting, you see, with magic. A sort no one else had bothered with, at least not for a long time, for they couldn't control it. As she could not, in the end. But she shared it with me, before that. Her notes. Her incantations. I still have the practise wand I used to learn them."

Now it began to dawn on him. His skin crawled, not from the thestral this time.

"I broke my promise," she continued, and there was finally a hitch in her voice. "That I made to daddy, never to use her magic again. For her memory. For my own safety. But it's a Slytherin I am, Draco, as you say. And I broke that promise, for one can never trust a snake."

She laughed. But it was a bitter, empty sound this time, coming out in shivers as she crossed her arms over her chest and massaged her shoulders. It made her sound far older than her years.

He wanted to say something, to tell her she'd used it accidentally the first time, in defense of somebody's life the second, but he knew it wouldn't do any good. Hermione could be reasoned with. Luna could not. Draco removed his winter cloak and draped it over her shoulders. He held her in silence.

* * *

Gentle hands shook him awake the next morning. Draco's head tossed on the pillow as his eyes fluttered open.

She was sitting at the edge of the bed, already showered and dressed. The lights in the first-year boys' dormitory were getting brighter. Their detention had passed without incident, and another morning had come. He counted himself lucky.

He pushed himself up on his elbows. "What time is it? They don't know you slept in here, do they?"

"Six-thirty. And, no."

They relaxed. The silence was familiar, even comfortable now. It was the best Draco had slept since the common room sofa.

He sat up next to her and began fastening her green and silver tie. He knew she was all right again when she stared leisurely off into space and began to sing. _"Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts, teach me something please ... all who oppose the Malfoys and Lovegoods, begging on their knees ... "_

She always knew how to make him smile. He finished her tie and stepped back.

"Thank you for listening to me," she said. "Draco."

He could feel his face burning. He watched her as she left the room, taking in every flowing shift of her scraggly hair and swish of her robe about her ankles. Something stirred inside of him then, a brief and fervid interest that he never before associated with her; then it had passed. He shook it off and began looking around for his shoes.

* * *

 _The Bad Guys Win: Lionhearts Broken, 210-70_

 _by Terence Higgs_

 _If Saturday's classic showdown is any indication where Slytherin's team is headed, then this reporter will never complain about losing his starting job to Draco Malfoy again._

 _"But he's a Malfoy, he's already got everything, why should he have the seeker position too?" asked Dean Thomas (Gryffindor, 2nd year) before the game. Now we have the answer: because he flies like the wind, he can take out Harry Potter and announcer Lee Jordan in one play without drawing a foul, and even in a tough spot he has something up his sleeve: namely the snitch._

 _Slytherin's dramatic win ended an inspired comeback by the battered Gryffindors, who clawed their way back from a 0-60 deficit ..._

 _—_

 _The Girl Who Saved the Boy Who Lived?_

 _by Daphne Greengrass_

 _Darlings, you all know that gossip is my business. And at Hogwarts, business is always good. So what happened in the lions/snakes Quidditch game to set our tongues wagging besides the lions' comeback, Draco Malfoy's heroic finish, and the highly eccentric commentary of backup announcer Luna Lovegood?_

 _A quiet wallflower from Slytherin saved Harry Potter's life, that's what!_

 _It seems that not even one of the game's bludgers could resist the opportunity to meet Hogwarts' favourite (?) celebrity. It was after him for half the game, narrowly missing him on a few occasions, and would have finished him after his crash if not for the quick thinking of second-year Sophie Roper who used her heavy bookbag to contain the bludger after it smashed through a nearby bench._

 _Potter, unsurprisingly, has not thanked her yet ..._

—

 _Letters to the Editor_

 _The Headmaster used legilimency on my girlfriend a few years ago. I can't prove it and neither could she, but I believe it. One day she's a happy, normal student who gets called into his office because of some stupid stuff her friends in another house did, the next she's crying and skipping class and trying to learn occlumency. It wasn't hard to figure out what happened._

 _—_

 _I am a graduate of Hogwarts and a Gryffindor, and I will not allow my child to attend this school while Albus Dumbledore is Headmaster. He has been doing things like this for years and no one is stopping him._

 _—_

 _I am writing this letter anonymously. I've been at Hogwarts for a while and no, I am not a Slytherin. Six years ago, there was a rash of thefts in my house. It seemed like items were disappearing from dorm rooms every day. I was friends with some older students who had graduated the year before and had a reputation for making trouble. Instead of questioning everybody involved, Albus Dumbledore called me into his office alone and used legilimency on me without my permission to find out if I was the thief. (I was not.) It was the most humiliating thing that ever happened to me, knowing that he was invading my mind and I couldn't keep him out. Only my closest friends know about it. As a historical figure, he will always have my admiration; as a person, he will never have my trust again._

Dumbledore excused himself from high table early that morning.

"It's become quite serious, hasn't it?" said Pansy.

"You have no idea," Draco answered.

 _Splat._

"Frye told me they got far more letters than they could print," said Blaise, who was drowsily reading the newest issue of _The Quibbler_ and scribbling notes in the margins. "They added an extra page just to fit all the best ones."

 _Splat._

"So that's why he's been strutting around like a peacock lately," Pansy giggled. "Alexandra doesn't look nearly as happy, does she?"

Crabbe swallowed a huge bite of his biscuits and gravy. "She's all at sixes and sevens thinking they'll shut the newsletter down now."

"They can't do that!" Goyle protested. "Blimey! You and I won't have nothin' to read."

 _Splat._

Sophie Roper bit her lip as she read the letters section for herself. "It wouldn't surprise me. Dumbledore has stayed Headmaster because of his sterling reputation and ability to keep himself above the fray."

"And because Fudge is so afraid of the old codger taking _his_ job that he'll do anything to keep him here. Right, Luna?" Morag Ollivander said. As the famous wandmaker was her great-uncle, she had seen the Minister of Magic several times and come away unimpressed.

"Quite right, Ollivander."

 _Splat._

"Fudge is just the sort of leader the magical world deserves, if you ask me," sneered Theodore from a few seats away, looking up and down the table and seeking as much attention as he could get. He'd been driving everyone half-mad lately. "He's a reflection of us: scared and weak. Only purification can make us strong again!"

Selwyn's approving smile went unnoticed by almost everyone.

 _Splat._

Draco blinked. What in blazes was that sound? He looked to his right, where Pansy and the Carrow twins were snickering and whispering to each other, then to his left where Luna was holding a small red bottle of hot sauce upside down and splashing it liberally on Theodore's scrambled eggs. The boy had been too busy ranting about blood purity to even notice what she was doing, and it helped that the sauce was coming out of the bottle completely invisible. Who'd helped her pull that one off? Slytherins were not known for their sense of humour. He glanced around and saw Ginevra, younger sister to Hogwarts' two most notorious pranksters, watching with delighted anticipation from the other side of the hall. When she noticed Draco looking, she gave him a thumbs-up. Oh, dear.

Seeing that no one was responding to him, Theodore irritably took a forkful of eggs and jammed them into his mouth. Two seconds later he went scarlet and spit them violently out on the plate, clamping both hands over his throat.

"Would that be purification by fire, Theodore?" Draco said loudly, and the rest of the table fell out laughing. Luna secreted the bottle away before Theodore could see it.

The very next day, the great grey owl Michtam dropped off Lucius' letter to Draco. It was eventually shared with Luna, Ginevra, and Hermione.

 _Dear Son,_

 _My findings on young Mr. Selwyn and his family shall be disclosed in Miss Weasley's version of my letter. She must be holding the parchment in order for you to see them._

 _Your newsletter's publishing of the legilimency accounts may be problematic. The allegations have become public and Dumbledore is coming under scrutiny from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Rita Skeeter, that tragic excuse for a witch from the Daily Profit_ — _the Daily_ Prophet _, excuse my literary slip of the tongue_ — _is rumoured to be snooping around Hogwarts hoping to get quotes from students. Tell her nothing. She will find plenty of willing sources elsewhere._

 _Dumbledore's supporters are petitioning to ban the Slytherin Scrawl. He is something akin to a religious leader to many wizards. They assume he can do no wrong and their childish insistence on "hexing the messenger," as I saw a former boss of mine do too many times, makes them dangerous. Be on your guard._

 _Fortunately, we on the Board of Governors have succeeded in convincing Dumbledore to approve Professor Lockhart's Duelling Club for a Thursday, November 20th launch. Prepare yourself._

 _Do stay warm, and tell your mother and I about the precautions you have taken to shield muggleborns. I believe she supports you even more enthusiastically than I, and she was positively delighted when she learned you had offered adjutancy to the smartest muggleborn student in your year. She always took a more benevolent stance._

 _With Love,_

 _Your Father_

—

 _Dear Miss Lovegood,_

 _You shall no doubt be proud to learn that I greatly underestimated your father. When he learned that we had not invited him to our annual society Christmas party_ — _an innocent oversight on Narcissa's part, I am sure_ — _he threatened not to share his famous Dirigible Plum Pudding with me. Needless to say, we rectified the error as soon as possible and we look forward to seeing you during the holidays._

 _Though I am sure your father has mentioned this to you, I was pleased to hear that he is launching his own investigation of the Headmaster's activities. No doubt he will uncover a side of that story that is hidden from all others._

 _I must admit that you were quite correct when you proposed the muggle corporate strategy of 'damage control'. We have thus far been able to contain a potential disaster, portray our house in the best light possible, and investigate suspects. See Ginevra's version of this letter for further details on this. For one so young, you have a keen mind for politics. While I encourage you to continue the search for the crinkle-horned schnozzork and the blubbering hamdingers, you may have a future in the Ministry as well._

 _Best Regards,_

 _Lucius Malfoy_

 _—_

 _Dear Miss Weasley,_

 _Greetings. My son has warned me that you cannot abide formalities, so I shall cut to the chase. You have the potential to become a very powerful witch, and you know how to ask the right questions. Allow me to apologise for making such a poor first impression on you during our first meeting at the Diagon Alley bookstore._

 _While no one will be able to read what I've written here without your consent, I urge you not to let the rest of your family discover that we have been in contact. I doubt they would understand. Your father and I have never been on good terms._

 _Now, to your questions about young Richard Selwyn. He is a seventh-year prefect who turned 17 years old in October. His family is a fairly prestigious one in pure-blood society; not as wealthy or distinguished as the Malfoys, Parkinsons, or Blacks, but respectable. My son tells me he is romantically involved with fellow seventh-year prefect Gemma Farley. He is one of the strongest students in his year and is studying for his NEWTs, particularly in Charms._

 _But that's not what you truly want to know, Miss Weasley. You want to know whether he spends his time in suspicious company, has a history of violence, and is a dark wizard in the making. If so, he is disguising his true nature quite well. His disciplinary record at Hogwarts is spotless save for a few boyish pranks in his early years. I would go further: he takes great care to keep his nose clean, figuratively and literally (Draco tells me many Slytherins can attest to his peculiar fixation on hygiene)._

 _Nevertheless, his role in Miss Granger's encounter last Saturday is enough to arouse suspicion. Under no circumstances should you speak to him or confront him directly; he is a proficient duellist and stronger than all of you put together. I shall arrange to have the boy watched closely. If he does have something to do with the monster and the Chamber, we shall know about it soon._

 _Please allow Draco, Miss Lovegood, and Miss Granger to read your version of this letter, as circumstances permit._

 _Regards,_

 _Lucius Malfoy_

 _—_

 _To Miss Granger,_

 _I shall make this brief. While you may read my full report on the Selwyn boy in Miss Weasley's version, I urge you not to investigate him yourself. His academic record is beyond reproach, particularly in the area of Charms, and he would be a most dangerous adversary._

 _Instead, I recommend that you go about your life as normal and not reveal your employment with us to any of your housemates. My son will be using his contacts at Hogwarts to make the rumour mill work in our favour for once by spreading the word that muggleborn students should never walk the corridors alone, especially at night. Though even Draco cannot tell me where he gets all of his information, he is convinced that the creature is capable of killing with a mere glance. This should be of great help in narrowing down the possibilities as to the nature of the beast._

 _Another matter I invite you to research is that the Chamber was opened at least once, some decades ago before my time at Hogwarts, and a muggleborn was killed. Few people remember it, as the matter was quickly hushed up by then-Headmaster Armando Dippet and my predecessors on the board._

 _Investigate this matter carefully, and be warned: you may be very disturbed by what you find. Dippet and the Ministry's 'investigation', as they called it, was anything but thorough._

 _If resources at Hogwarts prove insufficient or inaccessible, do let me know. Our libraries at Malfoy Manor (there are two) are among the largest in the wizarding world. Do tell Draco if you wish to schedule a visit over the holidays._

 _Lord Lucius Malfoy_

 _Chairman, Hogwarts Board of Governors_

* * *

"Young lady," the Bloody Baron said severely, "you ought to be spanked."

Ginevra answered him with a rude noise and leaned back against the wall of the storage room. This part of the Astronomy Tower was kept locked when not in use, but the number of alternate routes revealed on the Marauders' Map was vast, and neither locks nor walls were proof against Slytherin's house ghost.

"It was just a little jaunt through the corridors, Baron! No one got hurt. Even our detention with Snape wasn't all that bad. I think he likes me, not that he'd ever say so. He partners me with Luna all the time now, I think because we brew the best potions in our class. Of course he tried to give Hermione more work than me, but then she is a Gryffindor and a mudbl—" the redhead stiffened and clapped her hand to her mouth. "Oh Merlin, I can't believe I almost said that. My parents would cook me for dinner if they heard! I think you're a bad influence on me."

The Baron laughed softly, a low and terrible sound that would have frightened many Slytherins. "I assure you that is the least of the epithets I've heard in nine hundred years. As I was saying, you should be ashamed for exposing yourself to that kind of danger. Unless you plan on becoming Hogwarts' newest ghost, I suggest you be more careful in future."

Ginevra looked sideways at him. "You were _worried_ about me, weren't you?"

He looked away and scowled. "Silence, flesh-bag."

"No-breath."

"Walking cesspool."

"Parasite."

"You will not be investigating Richard Selwyn," he said abruptly.

Ginevra's eyes glittered. "I'll do what I want to do."

"I have seen him, Ginevra, doing and saying things that would scar you for life. The boy puts up a good front but he is extremely zealous, to the point of being unstable. He reminds me of myself as a young man," the ghost said, smiling with ironic fondness. "Mudbloods and 'traitors', as he sees them, are worthless. If you challenge him, he shall murder you twice before you hit the ground and enjoy it. I, on the other hand, who can not die again ... "

She took a deep breath and held it.

"Who's to say what I might uncover on your behalf? To say nothing of the Chamber, if indeed there is one. Allow me to see to the matter. For a small recompense, that is ... "

"What is it?" she asked, folding her arms.

"As a young man, I availed myself of many delicious foods here at Hogwarts. Alas, I have not tasted in nearly a thousand years, and any spirit will tell you that is the thing they miss the most about living. Well, that and a few other things you'll learn about when you're older."

Ginevra laughed out loud. "When I'm ... oh, come off it, Baron. I'm eleven, not six."

"Times truly have changed," he muttered under his breath. "Yes, well, if I may continue. You tell me you are getting to know the Malfoys? Even in my time, they were one of the darkest and most resourceful magical families in Britain. If anyone knows how to craft a confection that ghosts can taste ... they would be the ones."

She thought of the possibilities. "Yes, I suppose they would be. Very well. I'll see what I can do."

"In that case ... so shall I."

"Oh, Baron, thank you!" Her smile was so bright it sparkled. She quickly said goodbye and jogged back to her dorm, trying to contain her mirth. Who would have thought the most feared ghost at Hogwarts had a sweet tooth?

* * *

A week later, the school was still free of any muggleborn casualties. Justin Finch-Fletchley, or Flinchey as he was known behind his back, never learned how close he came to death on the way back from astronomy one night. Fortunately Sister warned Draco in another dream and Luna's magic worked just as it had before, rousing Ginevra from a fitful sleep-which was fortunate, as the anti-spirit wards on the dorms and common areas prevented the Baron from warning her. Thanks to the Map (which now helpfully identified the monster as 'Sister'), she and the Baron got to Flinchey before Draco and Luna could. The ghost wasted no time jumping out at him with a shriek, causing him to run screaming down the Tower stairs before the great serpent could reach him. Hermione continued to help but was unable to procure another pass to the Restricted Section from Lockhart; apparently Madam Pince had become suspicious and warned him not to hand out any more.

Luna was very secretive about the nature and capabilities of light magic, as she called it. Though she still looked pained and sometimes dropped her wand in fright on the rare occasions when it activated, Draco felt she was beginning to accept it as a necessary evil. She could not explain the connection it had forged between the three of them, and they were still wondering about it when Thursday, November 20th arrived.

Draco and Luna were walking across the Great Hall to the kitchens, where they took the occasional afternoon tea and Draco learned more about house-elves and their lives than he ever cared to know, when they noticed a huge sheaf of parchment posted on the wall. In sparkling gold ink, it proclaimed:

 **DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ARTS PROFESSOR AND VANQUISHER OF EVIL EXTRAORDINAIRE GILDEROY LOCKHART PRESENTS**

 **A GILDEROY LOCKHART PRODUCTION**

 **STARRING WINNER OF WITCH WEEKLY'S MOST CHARMING SMILE AWARD GILDEROY LOCKHART**

 **DIRECTED AND TAUGHT BY THE _—_**

"Oh, get to the point, you great ponce!" Draco cried disgustedly.

"Look, near the bottom," said Luna.

 **THE OFFICIAL GILDEROY LOCKHART DUELLING CLUB OF HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND LOCKHARTRY**

 **DEBUTING TONIGHT IN THE GREAT HALL, EIGHT O'CLOCK**

Next to this on the noticeboard was another sheet of paper (as Lockhart had run out of room on the first one) where applicants could write their names. Many students had already volunteered including the Golden Trio, Theodore, Selwyn, and Ginevra. Pansy had written her name in sprawling, vicious cursive with pale and venomous-looking green ink.

"What say you, Lady Lovegood?" Draco queried in an exaggerated version of his familiar drawl. "Let us make some people beg tonight, wot wot?"

Luna responded mischievously in similar fashion. "Why, my dear Lord Malfoy ... I thought you would never ask."

They devoted the tea-time to practising their spells.


	13. Nonfatal Exposure

_A/N: To all of my awesome readers, congratulations! By going this far into the story, you have earned the right to become wizards and witches yourselves! Allow me to retrieve your magic so that I may bestow it upon you. Er ... that's strange ... I know I put it somewhere ... _

_Sorry, this might take a while. (cue sweat drop) In the meantime, your feedback is always magical! Speaking of which, here's a quick shout-out to my reviewers before we jump into the Club and a duel that's been a long time coming: Draco vs. Harry._

* * *

guest#9/Philkins27 (ch.12): _Thank you so much for your rewarding and detailed feedback. I always look forward to it. Per your advice, I did take my time on this chapter. It took a while to decide how the various duels would play out!_

sharingoxygenwithyou: _Thanks! Grey Luna is tough to write because a lot of people can't get their heads around normal Luna. In canon she went five lonely years before meeting Harry and got into the D.A., and I think it really affected her. Here she is still an oddball, but she has a supportive house to help her adapt quickly to life at Hogwarts. A stronger start and an influential friend puts her in position to lead as well as follow._

Sunset Whispers: _I was going to make Lucius meaner at first. He is a cold and disdainful person by nature, but also a consummate politician, and I gave him a soft spot for kids too. So he tolerates Draco's friends because his son has earned his trust and respect, and being civil to Ginevra and Hermione furthers his ultimate goals of minimizing the damage done by the Heir and recovering Tom Riddle's diary. Even if Ginevra does find out about the book, she'll be less likely to squeal to her parents if she views the Malfoys as friends. I suspect this is why Luna wanted Draco to approach her in Chapter 10. She's always thinking, that girl._

Sadia140230: _I appreciate your feedback! You understand the core concepts of the story quite well. The one friendship between Luna and Draco changes their courses dramatically, and who knows how far the ripple effect will spread? Finding that out, I think, is the real beauty of AU stories._

guest#10 (ch.2/4/9/10/12): _I haven't thought much about pairings yet as they're all still a bit young. Romance will never be the main focus, but something might develop if I continue this story into 'Prisoner of Azkaban' and beyond._

Joshua's Tall Tales: _Thank you, Joshua! Sometimes I wonder if the Humour tag is throwing people off. But at any rate I'm very happy with the response this story has had._

ghostcrab311: _That's what I love about writing this: Draco is still Draco, Luna has a sinister edge to her, Ginevra's being corrupted bit by bit (though she is increasingly a willing participant in this), and Hermione's pragmatic side is causing her to buy in to the status quo. But when the 'good bad guys' are smarter and more effective than the 'good good guys', it's tough to go against them. Thanks for your feedback!_

* * *

 **XIII: Nonfatal Exposure**

The Great Hall was decked out quite impressively when the students rushed in that evening. Black velvet draperies hung across the ceiling, where the thousands of candles hovered over a golden stage. Draco heard a rumour that Lockhart was involved with the interior design, and if so the man had missed his true calling. He wished he could have stayed after dinner to watch the massive chamber being set up, but Merlin forbid the students should ever _see_ the school's elves doing their work, so the doors were all bolted until the clocks struck eight.

Draco walked into the cavernous room with a purpose. He'd been waiting for another chance to step on Potter ever since last week when _someone_ caused Goyle and Crabbe's potion to explode and his nose swelled up as large as his head. He'd seen Fred and George sneaking in and out of the loo near the dungeons often enough to recognise one of their firecrackers, and he had no doubt their brother Ronald and the Boy Who Lived With Blood Traitors were involved. Any Slytherin would know better than to pull a prank on Snape, and most of the other Gryffindors were smart enough to keep their heads down in potions class. But Potty and Weasel? Never. His suspicions of the Trio were further aroused when Pansy told him she saw Hermione ducking back into her seat with something stuffed down the front of her robe.

"I might have turned her in to Snape straightaway if she wasn't with you," she told him over a brutal game of wizard's chess that evening in the common room. "But since she is I assumed it was Malfoy business. Anyway, I've never minded that little know-it-all so much. It's the other mudbloods I can't stand."

Draco didn't know what was going on any more than Pansy did. More alarming was the fact that she knew Hermione was connected with him! It turned out Crabbe and Goyle had seen the swot wearing the band with his family crest and told Pansy about it. He swore all three friends to secrecy until further notice, but resigned himself to the fact that the news would soon leak out all over Slytherin.

"Now what do I do?" he whispered to Luna when they took their places in the crowded, bustling Hall.

"Damage control, of course," she said serenely. "We will get ahead of the news, before it gets ahead of us."

His eyes widened. "You mean tell them? Everyone?"

"Very soon. Tonight if possible. You've been wanting to introduce her for a while, no? To show everyone muggleborns are not so different. This is your chance."

Draco slapped his forehead lightly. "Of course! Luna, I don't know what I'd do without you."

Her smile this time was different; almost teasing, and closer to the surface of her eyes. "I fear nargles would have made off with your whole wardrobe by now."

His snicker was cut short by the appearance of their esteemed instructors. Or rather, one's considerable esteem made up for the other's lack of it; a dark and gloomy Professor Snape shuffled to the edge of the stage, looking like he'd rather be anywhere in the world than next to Professor Lockhart and his foppish festoonery.

"Gather round, gather round one and all!" cried the hack. "Can everyone hear me? Or rather, can everyone see me? Yes? Yes? Good! Now Professor Dumbledore has been surprisingly punctual in granting me permission to start this little Duelling Club, to train you all up should you ever have cause to defend yourselves, perhaps from the dastardly fiend that petrified our dear Mrs. Morris last month ... "

"It's Mrs. _Norris!"_ shrieked Filch from the back of the room. Stifled giggles floated over the crowd. To the other students' knowledge there had been no further attacks, and many had begun to dismiss the Hallowe'en incident as a malicious prank.

"Of course, exactly what I said ... after much study, I myself have determined that a Transvaalian Tubersnort was responsible ... "

"Nonsense," Luna whispered in Draco's ear. "Everyone knows the Transvaalian Tubersnort hibernates in October."

"And the man calls himself a professor," Draco replied.

Lockhart prattled on: "As I have successfully defended myself from dozens of deadly creatures from basilisks to blast-ended skrewts without even mussing my hair, it was not only proper but inevitable that I, Gilderoy Lockhart, should be your instructor!"

"What's a basilisk?" Draco muttered to Luna.

"I'm not certain. I thought those were just made-up."

He snorted. "Well, if _you_ think they're made-up ... "

She dug a sharp, skinny elbow into his side, and Draco chose not to finish the sentence.

Lockhart finished basking in his applause and turned to Snape. "And allow me to introduce my assistant, Professor Snape! I have it on good authority that he knows a tiny little bit of duelling himself from his younger days as a De—" He halted when he caught a glimpse of the potioneer's face. "Er ... delivery boy for the Daily Prophet, when customers refused to pay their subscription fees! Yes, that's it!"

Snape's expression softened from murderous to merely outraged.

"As I was saying, he has sportingly agreed to participate in a little demonstration of advanced duelling techniques! Don't fret, young ones, you'll still have your potions professor when I'm through with him ... "

Snape's hatred of this man was palpable as they raised their wands, turned, and walked the customary paces down the stage. They faced each other again and Lockhart bowed with a frivolous flourish that made a few of the girls nearly swoon; Snape merely jerked his head downward.

"I can't watch," Daphne said fearfully at the Slytherins' end of the Hall. "Snape's going to kill him."

She wasn't far off. No sooner had Lockhart counted down from three than Snape spun his wand around and over his shoulder and cried, _"Expelliarmus!"_ A brilliant scarlet flash filled the hall. Next to his father, Draco had never seen anyone concentrate their magic so potently and make it look so easy. Lockhart left his feet as though a hippogriff had snatched him up, flying so far backward that his head cracked the wall (or was it the other way around) and he slumped forward into a seated position, out cold.

Many of the Slytherins whooped and cheered, ignoring the female gasps and shrieks from elsewhere in the hall, especially Lockhart's own Ravenclaw. Cho Chang buried her face in the shoulder of Marietta Edgecombe, who stood watching with great interest.

"Since Professor Lockhart has so kindly yielded the floor," Snape said nastily, "that was a standard disarming charm, a particularly useful technique to make an opponent release their weapon and, at advanced levels, to reflect their offensive magic back on them. Duelling is not a _performance._ It is a fight for survival. If you've not learned that in your Defence classes, then you've learned nothing. Miss Farley, if you would be so kind as to retrieve this... "

He indicated the fallen implement on the stage. Gemma quickly _accio'd_ Lockhart's wand.

" ... And Mr. Flint, if you would retrieve _that ... "_ Snape gestured distastefully to the fallen wizard. The towering boy obediently lifted Lockhart from the stage as though he were a sack of potatoes. "And take him to the hospital wing, we may begin our first lesson in earnest. Filius, if you would care to assist me ... ?"

Another hush fell over the hall as the charms teacher and Ravenclaw Head of House stepped forward. Filius Flitwick didn't look like much; the old half-goblin was just about three feet tall if you counted his shock of white hair. But he was a formidable duellist, nearly as strong as Dumbledore according to Draco's parents.

"Certainly, Severus," Flitwick said. His light, reedy voice was much more serious than usual, taking on the gravelly sound Draco had heard from the goblins at Gringotts. "Students, while Professor Lockhart is seen to, we shall continue with the lesson and put you all into pairs. The object of this lesson is to attempt the disarming charm Professor Snape just showed you. Have no fear of hurting each other; you have years to go before you attain a fraction of his expertise. Whoever succeeds first shall be the winner. Students who attempt any other enchantments shall be immediately dismissed from the Club. Understood?"

Grudging murmurs answered him from around the room. Draco was impressed. The younger students complained a bit, but from the older ones who must have seen hints of the little man in action? Not a peep. Snape was summoning the Gryffindors and Slytherins together—of course. The man always had to get one up on the lions. For the first time it occurred to Draco that this behavior could be seen as childish. The lions reluctantly trudged over. Potter and Weasley were already shadowing Hermione, casting suspicious glances between her and the snakes. She was beginning to look quite put out with them.

"Time to split up the dream team, I think. Weasley, you seemed to find it highly amusing when Mr. Nott was affected by last week's ... _mishap_ ... in potions." Snape looked directly at Potter, who froze for just a moment before affecting innocence. "You and he shall be the first team. Mr. Malfoy ... ah, there you are. Always ready to represent Slytherin house these days. Let's see what you make of the famous Potter in action. And you, Miss Granger, may partner Miss Bullstrode."

Potter immediately took exception. He and Weasley seemed unwilling to let Hermione get near any Slytherin. Ironically, they were so busy trying to talk Snape out of it that Draco was able to get a quick word with the girl behind their backs.

"I suppose you'll want me to throw this one," Hermione said indignantly. "You wouldn't want someone like _me_ making one of your fellow Slytherins look bad."

"Lower your voice. And don't look at me." Draco wrinkled his nose, unfamiliar with the muggle expression. "What do you mean, throw?"

"To lose on purpose," she said glumly, pretending to study something on the ceiling.

"Are you barking?! You'd _better_ win, Granger," he whispered as forcefully as he could without anyone overhearing. "How would it look if I hired an adjutant who can't even disarm someone?"

Hermione blinked. She honestly hadn't expected that. "You want me to show her up?"

"Being told how great we are is all well and good, but we like a challenge too. Otherwise what's driving us to get any better and be leaders in this world? Nothing about my family legacy involves sitting on my ass all my life and the same goes for Millicent. So give her all you've got, because I'm going to be introducing you to the others in the conference room. Tomorrow night."

"Tomorrow?!" her mouth fell open, exposing her buck teeth.

"I didn't want to spring it on you but it's high time they knew, and word about your chat with Crabbe and Goyle's gotten round. Can't put it off any longer."

She looked petrified. "But I can't just walk into the dungeons by myself ... "

"You have the crest and I'll be with you. Call it your newest assignment. Besides, they need this, Hermione!" Draco looked fierce, but a pleading note had entered his voice. "They need to see you, talk to you, ask you questions. I need you to show them that muggleborns are human, that not all of them are the enemy, and ... if you don't teach them, who will?"

Hermione's eyes filled up with tears. As nervous as she must be, he had her at the word "teach."

"Win any way you can," Draco mumbled, and stepped aside to face Potter. Snape had dismissed his protests and was now moving on to pair up the other students. He glimpsed the first-years about fifty feet away; Luna had been paired with (or, rather, against) Andrew Kirke. At least Luna's wand had stopped glowing after the first encounter with Sister. That would have been difficult to explain.

Hermione quickly pulled herself together and stood across from an approaching Bullstrode. The large, overbearing girl did not return her smile, but she didn't look particularly hostile either.

 _Win any way you can,_ Malfoy had said ... and it had sounded like an order. Yes. It was _his_ fault, really, that she was about to employ this shamelessly underhanded strategy.

"Excuse me, Bullstrode," she said in a cheerful tone just as Flitwick was counting down. "Do you think this looks good on me?"

She let the left sleeve of her robe fall to expose the band, whispering a quick _lumos_ to reveal the crest. Bullstrode's normally squinty eyes went wide as dollars.

 _" ... One!"_ Flitwick called out.

 _"Expelliarmus!"_ Hermione's pronunciation was rushed, but her intuitive hand movement seemed to make up for it. A little red flashbulb of magic went off, and a distracted Bullstrode immediately dropped her wand.

Other results varied. Draco was embarrassed when Potter managed to pull off the charm faster than him, but he didn't give the prat the satisfaction of losing his temper. Theodore disarmed Weasley with enough force to sting his hand slightly, which was unusual for a second-year. Luna and Kirke had somehow disarmed each other. Third-year Cormac McLaggen had broken the rules by trying to sneak in a tickling charm and was summarily thrown out by Flitwick, showing everyone that he meant business.

"You have all made an acceptable effort," Snape said. His tone was neutral, and he seemed to be more relaxed now that he was free of Lockhart and the potions classroom. "I believe we can trust you with a bit more leeway. Agreed, Filius?"

"Let us test that theory with one team of first-years."

"I have just the pair," Snape gestured behind him. "I suggest Miss Weasley and Miss Lovegood, two of my ... less dunderheaded potions students."

Luna and Ginevra were surprised that he'd paid them a compliment, albeit a backhanded one. Everyone else was surprised because the two girls were so close.

"If he's trying to destroy their friendship ... " Draco muttered ominously.

"He's just testing them, Malfoy," Pansy said as she sidled over to him for a better look. "Relax. Those two are closer than a frog and a card, though Merlin knows why."

"Is she a blood traitor?" he asked abruptly, unable to stop himself before the words came rushing out. Pansy was not one of the nicer pure-bloods, and he wanted a sneak preview of what he'd be in for Friday night. "Am I, because of Granger?"

Pansy frowned. "Are you asking me as a friend, or a Slytherin?"

"Both."

"As a friend, I say you're not _really_ a traitor unless you're undermining your own house. Hiring someone with Granger's skills doesn't hurt us; it helps us. So, no. As a Slytherin ... yes, I suppose both of you are traitors. Seeing as your family is my family's ticket to the top of the pure-blood food chain, I'm not stupid enough to make an issue of it. But if you're going to make us all choose between the favour of the Malfoys and the joy of stepping on mudbloods ... "

Draco waited impatiently as she put a finger to her chin.

" ... I think your reasons had better be good. Actually, they'd better be brilliant."

Ginevra and Luna were ready to duel. Both girls bowed low, showing the utmost respect for each other; Luna's curtain of hair obscured her face for the moment, but Draco was sure she looked as untroubled as usual. She stood calm and relaxed, a sharp contrast to Ginevra's excitement. Her drive to prove herself and stand out from her siblings was obvious, but she was a ball of nerves because of it. Draco could have taught her a thing or two about relaxing.

No sooner had Flitwick counted down than a pale beam lanced from the redhead's wand straight at Luna's feet. Despite her family's reputation for producing half-wits, Ginevra was quick on the draw. Even staring down her best friend, her intent to win was not shaken. Luna dodged the spell with evasive movements very similar to Theodore's. Her friend stayed on the offensive, and scored a glancing blow to her leg with a tickling charm.

A gasping Luna returned fire while balancing on her other leg. Ginevra ducked and rolled, her hair a crimson blur about her head. She braced herself on one hand and fired a second Rictumsempra that might have struck Luna's wand arm if she hadn't botched the motion. The other first-years looked amazed. While the two girls lacked punch and displayed a limited arsenal, their speed and confidence were well above average.

As Ginevra sprang to her feet, Luna moved her wand with an exaggerated wind-up that turned out to be a feint; the Gryffindor fell for it completely and ducked again, and the feint became the first motion of an _Expelliarmus_ that sent Ginevra's wand skittering across the floor.

"Congratulations to Miss Lovegood," Flitwick said over considerable applause from the other students.

Ginevra's lower lip quivered as she rose. They might have very little in common, Draco thought, but he could see she hated losing as much as he did. That was something. At the same time his heart swelled with pride for Luna. All of their practises together in the past week had not gone to waste. Like him, she wasn't overly fond of combat; she took a scholarly approach, using the most effective techniques to get the fight over with quickly.

Pride gave way to resentment as Potter came into view again, placing himself between Draco and everything he wanted in an unsubtle challenge. How typical.

And how typically futile.

They barely noticed everyone else looking at them. The other first-years were allowed to duel and all of their matches ended quickly; Frye and Hestia won while the others weren't so lucky; Morag was in tears after losing to the muggleborn Creevey and had to be consoled by the Carrow twins. The second-years came next, and rosy-cheeked blonde Lavender Brown had the misfortune of being paired with Pansy Parkinson.

"Good luck, Parkinson," she said uneasily, hoping a low bow would alleviate the other girl's wrath.

"I'd keep all the luck for myself if I were you," Pansy whispered as she returned the bow. "Because you'll need it, _Lavvy-davvy."_

Lavender gasped. "Only my mummy calls me that! How did you know ... "

Pansy's smile might have unnerved You-Know-Who himself. When the duel began shortly thereafter, Lavender was so badly shaken she could scarcely grip her wand. The other pure-blood easily dodged her _tarantellegra_ attempt, not even blinking as the spell ruffled her hair on its way past. Thus began a humiliating game of cat-and-mouse in which Pansy stood there lazily evading or countering a desperate barrage of elementary jinxes from the other witch. Lavender's meagre abilities were exhausted in hardly a minute, leaving her open to a stinging hex so painful that she dropped to the floor and rolled into Parvati Patil.

The Indian girl had been out-duelling Blaise Zabini, but this proved distracting enough for Blaise to recover and cast a successful _Expelliarmus._ Meanwhile, Millicent was so clearly unnerved by Hermione's crest that the teacher's pet scored a fairly easy victory. Weasley's broken wand was so useless that he could hardly get a successful spell off before Theodore flattened him with a few well-chosen hexes.

Pansy strode up to her opponent and plucked the wand from her hand, twirling it in her fingers as she looked to Snape for approval.

"That will do, Miss Parkinson," he said, cracking the barest hint of a smile.

She knelt down beside a whimpering Lavender and pressed the wand back into her fingers.

 _"I'm_ your mummy now, Lavvy-davvy," she said.

It was no surprise to anyone that Snape saved Potter and Draco specially for last. He never could resist the urge to pit them against each other.

 _Is that all I am to him now?_ Draco wondered. _Just a little green thorn to stick in Potter's side?_

"Watch your back, Malfoy," the boy growled, shoving his grubby face up close to the blond's.

"Brush your teeth, Potter," Draco said coolly.

The wannabe-hero turned red and stormed ten paces away. Draco did the same. He was inside Potter's head and he knew it. Strangely enough he didn't even care all that much. Compared to the whole mess with Sister and the diary and the Chamber of Secrets, this was child's play. Still, he did have to win. His image as a Malfoy and a rising leader in Slytherin demanded it.

Flitwick was about to count down. Potter barely inclined his head. Draco bowed stiffly, drawing attention to the boy's insult. Anything to throw him off his game.

So irritated was Potter that before Flitwick even reached one, he whipped his wand viciously and yelled, _"Stupefy!"_

A stunning spell was well out of the second-years' curriculum. To his credit, the lion managed a slow and weak version of it that drew many _ohhs_ and _ahhs_ from the younger ones, but Draco avoided this easily. One ambitious gesture deserved another, and before the cheers died down he put all his concentration into a shield charm. It was relatively brittle and did not move with him, but it was enough to absorb Potter's next few attacks and frustrate him even more.

A fizzling light before him suggested the shield was almost gone, so he bought himself some more time using one of the few spells Lockhart had actually taught them in his laughable Defence class. _"Mimblewimble!"_

Sure enough, Potter's next incantation came out hopelessly garbled, momentarily leaving him a sitting duck. A moment was all Draco needed to cast _Everte Statum,_ a simple repulsion jinx that threw Potter backwards. Draco felt himself wearing down and tried to end it there with a disarming charm, but his aim must have been off, for Potter was still very much armed as he scrambled to his feet and counterattacked. Draco didn't know what the spell was, but it felt as though he'd been hit over the head with something heavy; he crumpled to the platform and curled protectively around his wand. Body absorbed the pain as mind raced furiously. He couldn't let Potter defeat him, no matter what.

"YEAH! Crawl on the ground like the snake you are, Malfoy!" Weasley cheered.

Draco's vision cleared. He might be down but he wasn't beaten, and he knew exactly which spell he wanted to use.

Potter raised his wand reluctantly, as if he thought it unsporting to finish off a downed opponent but was doing so anyway. Draco rolled suddenly and took dead aim with both hands, summoning all his remaining energy.

Potter's lips were moving, but not fast enough. _"Expellia—"_

 _"Serpensortia!"_

Silver light burst forth. No one noticed a similar flash from Luna and Ginevra except for the girls themselves as a long white snake exploded from the end of his wand, deadly and beautiful. It landed heavily upon the stage, scales glistening in the candlelight, and reared its head to strike.

Strange ... when he practised this with his father, the snake had always been black. Not that he cared; it could be purple with orange stripes as long as it did the job. Most of the crowd backed away. Draco thought he heard one of the Gryffindor girls scream, but it turned out to be Dean Thomas. Colin Creevey snapped away with his camera whilst retreating. A female prefect from Hufflepuff bravely jumped in front of Finch-Fletchley, Midgen, and her other housemates who were standing closest.

It hardly mattered; the pale reptile had eyes only for Potter, who scrambled away so quickly that he tripped and barked his elbow on the platform, where his wand fell from his hand.

Draco beamed.

"Don't move, Potter. I'll get rid of it ... " Snape chuckled, obviously relishing the boy's terror.

The serpent was only a few feet away when Potter, as though in a trance, opened his mouth and made a series of perplexing noises. Was he breathing hard? Wheezing? No ... he was hissing, almost as if he were mocking the snake or _—_

Or _talking_ to it.

Those dire suspicions were confirmed when the snake inexplicably slumped to the floor, and slithered grouchily back to Draco's side. The hall had gone nearly silent as it sunk in that Harry Potter, golden boy of Gryffindor, could speak parseltongue. Even Draco felt a chill ... one that soon turned to a shiver of anticipation as Weasley and Hermione rushed Potter out of the chamber.

Oh, this was rich. This was _perfect._ If what his father told him about the Chamber of Secrets was true ... then the little ragamuffin just might be of use to him after all.

The question was, how to make him cooperate?

* * *

Friday morning at the Lovegood house was clear and brisk. Frost decorated the garden, and the birds were flying south. Whether they did so because of the oncoming winter, or the endless series of tooth-rattling explosions emanating from the tower, was up for debate. But either way, Xenophilius said to himself, nature took its course.

 _Boom._

And what a glorious thing nature was! To offer him such a wealth of dazzling possibilities, to provide such exquisitely volatile chemicals and resources to work with (even if he had to steal some of them from Severus' storeroom last month) ... the fates might as well have begged him to experiment! Of course there were some things better not experimented with, as dear Pandora's memory reminded him every day. That had been a truly dangerous branch of magic, forbidden and forgotten for a reason ...

But this, he could rationalize. A discharge of incompatible energies here, a minor conflagration there ... it was unnerving to be sure, but ultimately harmless.

 _Boom._

Xeno ducked behind the desk and cast an absent-minded water spell to put out his hair. It needed washing anyway. A stack of letters about a mutant kneazle raiding the Auror Department's fridge (all from the same reader) turned to ash.

It was worth the sacrifice. He did this not for himself, as much fun as it was, but for Luna. His wife's death had done more than shatter his heart; it had thrown his own future into a maelstrom of uncertainty. She'd been the one to organize them, to chart their course, to make sure the house stayed relatively clean and say this was appropriate and that was not. Xeno knew he simply wasn't equipped to take on that role, and so it had fallen to Luna. Wherever she went, he would follow and whatever she may need, he would do his utmost to provide so long as she kept her promise. That was wrong, some people may say, to let the child lead the parent. It went against nature. It simply would not do.

But they _made_ do. Though he considered himself Irish first and foremost, the ability to muddle through was one British legacy he didn't mind inheriting.

 _Boom. Crash._

Goodness! That combination of ingredients hadn't worked either, unless his goal was to shatter every window in the sitting room. Oh, well. It could do with some airing out. A reasonable person might have given up by now, but there were times when rational thought was a mere inconvenience. This particular idea was something that needed a few more years to develop; rushing it to fruition would inevitably have consequences. At least Luna's pictures on the walls were warded and therefore easily repaired.

He had promised his daughter she would have these as soon as possible, and so she would. Everything was falling into place. He finally knew the threat they faced now, had pieced it together from his incomparable knowledge of magizoology, had named it in the letter he shot off to Luna and the Malfoys that morning. It contained only one word.

 _BASILISK._

He tried another combination.

 _Boom?_

No.

It was more of a _boommmmmmmffffffzzzzzz ... sizzle, sizzle, sizzle!_ Xeno hopped about the trashed sitting room with joy. Success! Clarity! The front of his robes melting away! Pain! Oh, dear.

A quick healing spell set him right. The robes were unsalvageable unless he fancied a part in the next muggle Tarzan movie, but no matter. Clothing could be replaced. Muggleborn lives couldn't. With great satisfaction, Xeno held up the fruit of his labours in the illumination from the skylight (was a gaping hole in the upper wall part of his house's original blueprint? ... no matter, it was there now) and displayed it proudly to any invisible beasties who might be watching: a large pair of distinctively shaped, pink-and-bronze, but otherwise innocuous ...

 _... Spectacles._

* * *

 _Dear Father,_

 _I must thank you again for your advance knowledge concerning the Duelling Club. I shared it with as many of us as I could, and as a result all but two of the Slytherins in my year won their duels against the Gryffindors. I used Serpensortia on Harry Potter and it scared him out of his wits, just as you said it would. If only you could have been there._

 _There is another wrinkle in our plan, however. In the process of besting Potter, I also exposed him as a parselmouth. I saw him hiss back at the snake and cause it to retreat with my own eyes, and so did almost everyone else in the Great Hall. Perhaps you were right all along and he really is a dark wizard in the making. Many of the students express this opinion as well, but if true he is one of the most ill-bred and self-righteous dark wizards to come along in many years. Another possibility is that his parseltongue is an after-effect of his 'duel', such as it was, with the Dark Lord eleven years ago. I anxiously await your advice on this matter._

 _Luna and Ginevra are both good duellists in the making, and Pansy is lethal with a wand in her hand; I can see why Mr. and Mrs. Parkinson want to marry her off to me. They've given up trying to control her and they're hoping we can do it instead. I don't reckon our chances highly._

 _Selwyn watched us the whole time, and I didn't like the look in his eye. He even beat Bridget Holness in their match. You were right about his strength. He goes straight for the jugular._

 _I appreciate your patience with the Gryffindors. How Ginevra and Hermione became involved is a long story. Suffice it to say that good help is hard to find these days, and when they offered it I was glad enough to accept. Hermione is smart and willing to learn, quite unlike the rest of the muggle-raised rabble in this school who swagger about thinking they own the place._

 _We have the Weasley girl to thank for saving the latest muggleborn, a hopeless duffer named Finch-Fletchley; he was all the way up in the Astronomy Tower and I doubt Luna and I could have reached him in time. The girl has overcome a number of initial setbacks: fixation on Potter, Gryffindor sorting, and even her traitorous family. She's appearing more Slytherin every day. I realise her finding out about the diary would complicate matters, but you have my word that I'll handle her with care._

 _All the best, your loving son_

 _Draco_

* * *

They met after dinner on Friday in the room nearest the Slytherin conference chamber. After telling Potter and Weasley she was going to the library, Hermione slipped through the doorway and found herself in surprisingly close quarters.

"A storage closet, Malfoy?" she said doubtfully.

"I had little option," he replied, unable to hide the nervousness in his voice. His pale, pointed face was only a foot away from hers. "So, are you prepared?"

She swallowed hard. "As much as I can be in just twenty-four hours. I'm sure they'll expect me to know everything about the muggle world, if the questions ever reach that point. And I _don't_ know everything. Suppose they ask about politics? I wouldn't even know where to start. Ever since Margaret Thatcher resigned—"

 _"Hermione,"_ Draco said testily. "Must I continually remind you to breathe?"

She shook her head and took deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

"I haven't the foggiest idea about muggle current events and I doubt my housemates will ask about them. Their questions are bound to be a bit more ... elementary."

"Right," she said with a scowl. "Such as, am I actually human, do I bathe, and how do I deal with being unworthy scum."

"They won't dare be that rude, considering your position. But you've got the general idea."

The closet door creaked open, and Luna Lovegood stuck her head in.

"Hullo, Draco," she nearly sang. Calling a wizard of superior prestige by their given name was a major _faux pas_ in Slytherin unless you were exceptionally close to them. But apparently Luna was, because Draco just smiled back without batting an eye. Then, in a monotone, "Granger."

"Luna," Hermione said cordially. It was crystal clear that Draco's friend didn't like her and probably never would. Malfoy said more than once that she was no stickler for blood purity, so why did she always give her the cold shoulder?

"They are ready for you," Luna said, brightening again as she turned back to Draco. "Some have chosen not to attend, but most of them followed your orders. Your Quidditch teammates are there, though I fear they are not happy about it. Theodore refused to leave his dormitory 'til Pansy threatened him."

"And Selwyn?"

"He switched with Perriss so that he would be on duty. He wants no part of this, I'm sure."

Draco sighed. "No surprise there. I suppose it's for the best. All right ... stiff upper, Hermione. Follow me."

He led her to the conference room while Luna brought up the rear. He opened the door, and Hermione's heart began to pound as she stepped inside. The room was large and square with thick walls and green and silver draperies, and the huge chandelier was recognisable from Sir Nick's Deathday Party. Fortunately it was full of living people, so she no longer felt like she was walking into a freezer. Dozens of Slytherins sat in a semicircle across the back and sides of the room. An empty chair awaited her in the middle, facing all of them. Some had their arms folded. Others turned away when they saw her. None looked excited to be there. She did not see many sixth or seventh-years, but three prefects were present; Gemma Farley sat calm and impassive near the front, Alexandra Sykes and the Perriss boy further towards the back. No Snape, but that didn't surprise her in the least. He was probably abstaining so he could claim ignorance later. She wondered if Draco had even told him about this, or Lucius for that matter ...

"Did you tell your father we were doing this?" she whispered to him.

His mouth was set in a thin line. "No."

"He would have tried to stop you, wouldn't he?"

"Yes, and you're not to mention that to anyone else. They must think I have my parents' full support. Now if you're through asking silly questions, come with me and take the chair."

She nodded and took a final deep breath. "I feel like I'm on display."

"You are on display, Granger," said Luna.

"Thank you, Luna," Hermione said sarcastically.

"You are welcome, Granger. I'm glad to see you've learned manners."

Draco cut in. "Enough. Luna, take a seat. Hermione, come along."

The brunette was still rather irritable as she followed him to the center of the room and sat in the soft leather chair. If nothing else, the terse exchange with Luna had taken her mind off how scared she was. Some of these kids were looking at her with pure hatred in their eyes. She was glad when Draco remained standing beside her, even more so when Gemma walked over and stood protectively on her other side. She caught the older girl's eye, and the prefect gave her a gruff nod.

"Right," Draco said crisply. He spoke with the confidence of one who knew silence would descend instantly on the word of command. He had come prepared, and even brought some notes on a small length of parchment. "I'm glad to see so many of you chose to attend. If it were my father standing here you'd be hearing a formal speech, but seeing as I've known you lot for years and we all know pretty well why we're here, I'll give it to you straight. This is Hermione Granger. She got top marks out of all the firsties last year and, as a few of you already know, I've signed her as my first adjutant."

Eyes popped. Many who had been scowling and shuffling their feet now sat up very straight in their chairs. Theodore Nott quivered all over with rage. Millicent Bullstrode and Blaise Zabini were not pleased either. Sophie Roper, normally a mousy girl, looked downright fierce. Crabbe and Goyle just shrugged at each other, and Pansy seemed amused by the whole thing. Frye Harper, the skinny beanpole who wrote the Scrawl, alternated between staring at her and attacking his notepad.

"I trust you all know what that means. She's working for me, and from now on you'll treat her with the proper respect. You're not to bother her or call her nasty names. If she has to enter the dungeons on Malfoy business, even our common room, you'll treat her decently and give her help if she needs it. As the son of—"

"Blood traitor!" Cassius Warrington bellowed.

Some of the Slytherins turned on Warrington angrily, but none was as quick as Gemma, who cast a silencing charm that left him shouting mutely in his chair.

"Any other objections?" Draco asked.

No one dared make a sound.

"Very well. As I was saying, being the son of a Malfoy and a Black, I need not remind you how much my family values the sanctity of its bloodline. I know what it means to all of you, to be pure. It's a rare and wonderful thing. But it's also a responsibility. It's up to us to determine what sort of world we want to live in. I've heard talk here of how great things would be for us if the _other_ side had won the war. I think we should be grateful that we live in a world where we still have something to prove, something to do with ourselves besides sit around and be superior and breed. And for those of us who are half-bloods, you should be grateful you live in a world where you're a success story and not a disgrace. Where you can study, play Quidditch, eat with us and no one will say anything about it. Because that's not how things would be if crazy old Dumbledore and his rabble had lost, I can promise you that."

The mood in the room was shifting. Several of the pure-bloods were studying the floor, while Frye and Sophie and other half-bloods looked at Draco with something approaching awe. Gemma, herself a half-blood, was listening attentively.

"It's time we appreciated how lucky we all are. And whether you like it or not, as the heirs and heiresses of established wizarding families, we have an obligation. That's to extend a helping hand to less privileged wizards who are especially smart, talented, or hard-working. Many of your parents did it, at least before the war; someday you'll be expected to do the same. So far a lot of us have ignored adjutancy. We pretend it doesn't exist, because we're caught up in all this talk about muggleborns being filthy, inferior, not deserving of a place in our world and all the rest. But how would we know? Everyone close your eyes because I want a show of hands: how many of you here have even properly met a muggleborn witch or wizard in your lives?"

Even Hermione was shocked by how few hands in the crowd went up.

"One ... six ... thirteen ... right, hands down. I've counted seventeen people out of close to a hundred. That leaves about eighty per cent of us who haven't the foggiest idea what we're talking about when it comes to muggleborns. Who haven't met one, let alone asked _them_ what it means to be one. I'm not blaming you; many of us haven't had a chance. Well, _this_ is your chance." He gestured to Hermione. "Your parents aren't here to scold you. Even Professor Snape isn't here. It's a confidential student meeting, just us and Hermione. Her intelligence and her loyalty to me are beyond reproach. If you've ever been even the slightest bit curious about how they live, how they feel, what their world is like, how they're different from us ... go ahead and ask. In person if you wish, or on parchment if it's more comfortable."

Hermione watched with great amusement as almost everyone bent over their scrolls and started writing. It reminded her of a sexual education class where students who were too embarrassed to ask the teacher about something out loud could scribble it down anonymously. It was unthinkable to her that muggle studies class at Hogwarts was merely an elective offered to third-years and up. But because of that, she now had the priceless opportunity to sit at the front of a room full of people and educate them _herself._ She, Hermione Granger, got to be a professor for an evening. It was such a thrill that she almost hyperventilated.

Oh, if only her friends could see her now! If only she could _tell_ them all about it!

Gemma walked along the rows of seats with a snakeskin basket to collect the papers. There were several dozen easily. Hermione reached in and picked one at random.

"Hello, everyone, and thank you for coming to listen to me. I think I'm as curious about you as you are about me! Let's go to our first question." Unfolding the parchment, she read aloud: " _'How do mudbloods steal their magic?'_ Er ... oh, dear. Well ... "

"You needn't bother with that one, Hermione," Draco said patiently, seeing her falter momentarily. He turned to the crowd. "I believe I already instructed everyone _not_ to call you by inappropriate names."

"Thank you, Lord Malfoy," Hermione said, smiling. She felt honoured that he was standing up for her in front of his whole house. "But if you'll permit me, I don't mind addressing the question itself. This is one of the more common falsehoods about muggleborns. We don't steal our magic, but are born with it the same as anyone else. I remember performing my first accidental magic at my sixth birthday party. Another girl wouldn't stop making fun of me and I just wished she would shut her mouth, and then it really happened. She couldn't open her mouth for the rest of the party and her parents had to take her home. I think that's when muggle children started to be scared of me."

That got a few laughs. Some of the Slytherins fidgeted, as if uncomfortable thinking of her as a human being with a real childhood. These things would take time.

" _'Why don't you go back where you came from? You would be safer there,'_ " Hermione read from the next paper. "Well, I wouldn't be too sure about that. Muggle society is full of crime that's much harder to detect and prevent because they _don't_ have magic. You wouldn't believe what people can get away with. But more to the point ... if I went back there for the rest of my life, I couldn't use my magic freely. I would have to deny that part of myself, and you might as well ask someone to cut off their own arm. Being brought up in the non-magical world doesn't mean we love being wizards any less."

"S'pose you had to choose?" someone asked. It was Vincent Crabbe, one of the last people she would have expected to say anything. His towering figure was easy to notice as he stood up in the crowd.

Hermione thought about that. "It's hard to say, Crabbe. Almost everything I want is here, but ... my parents live in the muggle world. I love them, and of course they love me, but they don't understand magic. They're afraid of it, really. And because magic is a part of me ... well, things can be difficult at times. It's not easy to choose between your family and your future. I hope I'll never have to."

The Q&A session went smoothly as Hermione settled into a rhythm, with Draco occasionally clearing his throat to let her know when she was over-explaining something. Between debunking ludicrous myths like _"my father says touching mudbloods gives you spattergroit, is that true?"_ and _"if Potter speaks parseltongue, does that make him the Heir of Slytherin?"_ , while struggling with mind-benders like _"do muggleborns get wrackspurts?"_ , it was a tiring but highly productive evening.

* * *

Not until the meeting room was empty and curfew had passed did Selwyn reenter. Looking around with his beady eyes to ensure the room was empty, he levitated the two-way mirror from its hiding place up in the chandelier. His master had been able to see and hear everything that took place.

"Sir?" he whispered when he had the shard in his hands.

The voice that spoke to him was choked with rage. _"They must be punished, Selwyn."_

The boy's eyes lit up. "Yes, sir! This time, we'll make sure Granger can't get away. We'll silence her forever. We can—"

 _"Not the mudblood. The boy,"_ the face said. The jet-black hair was lank on its forehead, the sallow face marred by dark circles under the eyes. _"Punish the boy."_


	14. Unclean

_A/N: This story is rated T, and certain things that happen in this chapter will make it a higher 'T' than the others. I'm not going to spoil anything by telling you what to look out for; we're all big kids now. Just be prepared. I even cried a bit writing the newsroom scene later on. We're approaching a major turning point here._

* * *

brep: _Thank you, brep! I'm glad I could make your finals week easier. My brother and my roommate are going through the same thing. Makes me glad that I'm done with school, at least for the forseeable future._

guest#11/Philkins27 (ch.13): _I'm relieved that Chapter 13 was enjoyable for you. It was one of the tougher chapters to write, kind of like trying to squeeze toothpaste out of a frozen tube, and I hate to force my writing. I'm happy to say this one came much more easily to me. There was a particular scene here I dreaded having to write, but when the time came it was surprisingly easy._

HemlockAndy: _Ahh, but how do we know Selwyn is the one using the diary? ;) We'll find out, though. Thanks for reading!_

Sunset Whispers: _Thanks! The main characters are all novices who haven't learned much yet, but I did what I could to make their talent shine through. As for who Selwyn's talking to, that will become clear ... but in the meantime, consider: what kind of person would have the most to gain from directing Selwyn's actions and facilitating the attacks?_

Bartholomew Black: _Great to see you again! It's taken Draco many steps to reach this point, but I suppose he is now a muggleborn sympathiser. Now we'll see if he has the strength to maintain that stance. As Lulu from Final Fantasy X said: "When weak people are driven, they can't go far before they break ... "_

Qinlongfei: _I replied to some parts of your outstanding review in a PM, but to highlight a few others: Draco's triumph in the Quidditch game was very cathartic for me as well, because until I wrote that paragraph I hadn't decided whether Slytherin would win! And while Ginevra was not possessed by Tom Riddle, she absorbed quite a bit of his philosophy at an impressionable age. If she discovers the truth about the diary, I can see her responding in ways that not even "Tom" could anticipate._

* * *

 **Chapter XIV: Unclean**

Saturday was one of the coldest November days on record, and Snape's wards were wearing down too much to keep out the chill. It was bothersome enough that when Sophie suggested a second-year study session in the library, almost everyone came along just to get out of the common room while Snape redid the warming charms. Things were coming along rather quietly when Theodore Nott, who'd gone about all day with a menacing look in his eye, grabbed Draco by the arm at the shelves and regaled him with more of his brilliant observations.

"I do have to hand it to you, Malfoy. I never took you for a playboy, but you're doing awfully well for yourself this year."

Draco looked at the skinny boy as if lobsters were coming out his ears. "What in blazes are you on about, Theodore?"

"Come on, I'm not blind. All the time you're spending with that trashy Weasley girl, not to mention bringing mudblood Granger into our conference room, _not_ to mention that crazy little blood traitor girlfriend of yours. Who's the next addition to the harem, I wonder?"

"You're rather lucky I don't care what you think, Theodore," Draco said levelly, meeting his eyes. "Because if I did, you'd have a broken jaw right now."

"So you think you can bully me like you do Potter and that pathetic squib Longbottom?" Theodore whispered. "Wrong. Just because you've got a lot of money and both your parents wrapped around your little finger doesn't mean you can do whatever you like in our house. You'll get what's coming to you, Malfoy, just you wait—"

Two huge, meaty hands clamped down on both of Theodore's shoulders. He looked up to see Crabbe and Goyle standing right behind him with highly unpleasant expressions.

"Don't threaten Malfoy, Nott," Goyle said crossly.

"It could be bad for your health," added Crabbe, squeezing the boy's shoulder harder. "What say, Malfoy? Want us to make him squeal?"

Draco smiled as he thought back to the good old days of strolling around with those two at his back. Everybody thought them mindless brutes but they were all right, really; close family friends and very loyal. Goyle wasn't the sharpest knife in the drawer but a great cook, and while Crabbe had a mean streak he was mostly a quiet fellow who liked to keep things simple. But compared to Luna, Ginevra, and Hermione, he had to admit they weren't very stimulating company.

"Don't bother. Just a harmless little disagreement, I'm sure," Draco said pleasantly. "But call Hermione that word again, Theodore, and I won't be so lenient next time. Now get back to your seat."

Theodore retreated to the table, sitting as far away from Crabbe and Goyle as he could get. Draco returned to his place between Blaise and Pansy. Blaise looked as tired as he usually did these days, reading and jotting down notes in _The Quibbler_ while nodding occasionally at a small diagram Pansy was drawing in her notebook. She wasn't as good an artist as Luna, so he wasn't quite sure what she was going for.

"What's that supposed to be, Pans?" he asked.

"A diagram of all the pipes in the castle. Well, not all of them of course, but the major ones that we know of. Blaise and I have been looking around—like you told us to, remember?"

Draco blinked. He'd almost forgotten all about that. "Oh, right. What did you find?"

"Well, every so often we've seen a puddle of water outside Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. Not just on Halloween but two more times since, right Blaise?"

Blaise nodded wearily. "And she's dragged me away from the common room to look at it each time."

"Stop whinging. Anyway, I can't imagine it's a coincidence. Myrtle's a ghost and no living person uses that bathroom if they can help it, so who's tracking water in and out? Salazar's monster, I'll wager."

"Doesn't make sense," Blaise disagreed. "If it is the monster, how come no one else has been petrified since Halloween?"

Draco knew exactly why, but he couldn't risk telling anyone else until the whole situation was resolved. "Good question, mate."

"Well, I still think that's it," Pansy said stubbornly. "But I've had Blaise check the bathroom half a dozen times ... "

"And get soaked by Myrtle every time," Blaise added.

" ... And there's nothing hiding in there. So where _is_ the monster hiding?" Pansy gestured to her notebook. "In the plumbing, of course. It explains the water, and why no one's seen it yet. If you could disappear into any pipe, toilet, or faucet you wanted, you'd be almost impossible to catch."

Now _that_ was something Draco hadn't thought of.

Blaise squinted. "Any water source ... sounds like a kelpie. A kelpie could be any puddle of water, couldn't it? Even the ones we were staring at."

"Ugh!" Pansy said, shivering. "You're right! It could've been staring right back at us."

Draco took a closer look at her diagram. She had crudely mapped out the plumbing system on all the floors of the castle, and a larger pipe with a question mark next to it led from the second-floor girl's bathroom to the letters "C.O.S."

"Chamber of Secrets," Pansy smiled proudly, following his eyes.

"I still think you're barmy," Blaise said. "There is no Chamber."

* * *

Many of the Slytherins retired soon after dinner, huddling together in the common room and swapping stories. Pansy said she was looking for a muggleborn adjutant of her own, all but declaring her support of Malfoy in the process. She gracefully held court in a corner of the room debating Blaise and Morag about how far blood purity should go. Those who didn't wish to discuss politics occupied themselves with dark rumours of the _Scrawl_ being shut down. Sykes and Grimmett had charmed the entrance to the first-year boys' dorm to throw nasty spells at any non-Slytherin who tried to go in; Frye was drafting a series of letters asking for help and advice. Still other students gossiped about 'Parselmouth Potter' and their house's impressive showing in the Duelling Club. (The next meeting had already been scheduled for the following Thursday; Gilderoy Lockhart had declined to participate.)

Draco was laughing it up with Gemma Farley over mugs of hot cocoa as she went on about how crazy the prefects' meetings were these days; earlier that day Cyril Meakin tried to make teetotaler Sykes taste butterbeer, annoying her so badly she cast a hex at him; it missed and hit poultry enthusiast Damian Perriss, who spent the rest of the meeting squawking like a chicken while Gemma herself did nothing but argue with Grimmett about whether to allow any more muggleborns into the dungeons.

"Poor Richard was about to pull his hair out!" Gemma cried, taking another swig of her beverage that may or may not have been spiked with firewhisky. "We got nothing done, didn't even read last week's minutes. It was shambolic."

"I thought Selwyn already shaved his whole body anyway," Draco sniggered.

Gemma waggled her finger at him. "No comment. Hey! That reminds me, Malfoy. There _was_ one thing the prefects all agreed on, and it was about you!"

He raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "What, _I_ should shave my whole body? Hardly necessary, I assure you."

Gemma burst out laughing, pounding the arm of the sofa a few times. (It was definitely firewhisky.) "No, no! It's like this ... we don't all see eye to eye about what you're doing, you know, but we all like that you're stepping up as a leader. Salazar knows we needed one. We're still leading in house points even after the fifty you lost for that curfew incident, and a lot of that's down to you winning the Quidditch game, making the other little ones crack the books and all ... well, long story short, we agreed I should give you this."

She rooted around in several pockets (including her brassiere, while Draco turned pink and looked the other way) before extracting a crumpled green certificate.

Draco was gobsmacked as he examined it. "What?! Gemma, they never give these out!"

"Hey, I'm not Snape's student assistant for nothing. And the man really wants you to succeed, just doesn't quite know how to say it, does he? Lots of men are like that. But yeah, that's a real permission slip, it is. Now stop working so hard and go relax for an hour!" Gemma laughed again as Malfoy grinned and bolted out of the common room. "Look at him go! Still a kid after all."

* * *

"Salazar's beard," Draco said reverently, his voice ringing gently off the walls. "When I take over the Manor from dad, _this_ is the first bloody thing I'm putting in there."

Flint had told him stories of how swell it was in the prefect's bathroom, but no description could do it justice. The cream-coloured stone walls and floor were so smooth and glossy he could see a vague reflection of himself in them; the bathtub itself was sunk into the floor, the size of a small swimming pool with sides of exotic imported tile. Siphons of every variety and shape were arranged along the sides. There was even a diving board at one end, if the prefects were feeling particularly energetic.

A gold chandelier and portrait of a beautiful mermaid on the far wall completed the tableau of elegance. Draco had seen some of the fanciest bathrooms in wizarding Britain firsthand, and none could compare to this. Christmas had come early, at least for an hour, and he intended to use every minute!

He whooped and shed his clothes as he rain, trailing garments all the way to the tub. Turning a faucet at random, he watched with delight as it poured frothy and sweet-smelling water. Despite the size of the bath, it filled with remarkable speed (magic really was a wonderful thing) and he wasted no time jumping in. Warmth surrounded him, and he leaned against the side of the tub with a long sigh. It was indescribable. All his cares floated away with the rising steam and were banished. He could worry later about what had become of the diary, whether the support of the students and the Board of Governors could save the newsletter, how they were going to find the Chamber and enter it without getting killed. This was the most relaxed he had been in weeks.

He wished Luna was here. Well, not at the same time as him, necessarily—but she deserved to enjoy herself this way. The bath at Malfoy Manor would have to suffice, when she finally visited. He supposed he would have to invite Hermione someday, too. Actually his father already had, which utterly confounded him. No muggleborn had crossed the threshold of Malfoy Manor in Draco's lifetime. His parents had a few adjutants before he was born, but sent them away for their own safety when the war broke out. They never returned, and Draco didn't even know their names. He did know the name of his Grandpa Cygnus and Grandma Druella's last adjutant: Edward Tonks. Thereupon hung a tale that he had too much respect for them to ever relate, but it left the Black family's prestige so badly damaged that his other aunt went off her nut and joined the Death Eaters, while his mother had to marry his father right out of school just to salvage her own reputation. It said a lot about her kindness that she supported Draco hiring an adjutant of his own. But he knew that lecture was coming one day, probably soon, and about forty minutes would boil down to four words: _don't marry her, son._ Which he would never do anyway. Honestly. Adults got such ridiculous ideas in their heads.

He rather wished it were possible to stay twelve forever. And his parents could stay thirty-something, and You-Know-Who could stay a bodiless phantom, and ...

"Nice, isn't it, Malfoy?"

The voice was moderately deep, every syllable resonating with barely controlled zeal. He didn't have to look to know who it was. The blood drained from Draco's face, the warmth of the bath no longer felt. He wanted to duck under the water and hide.

"Yes," he said, trying to sound casual. He was the scion of the richest wizarding family in Britain. He had no reason to fear this boy.

"I've spent many hours in here," Selwyn said behind him, his footsteps echoing gently on the floor as he advanced. "Trying to get clean. Trying to wash away the filth."

Draco's nerves buzzed in silent alarm as he forced himself to turn and face the prefect, who stopped halfway between him and the entrance. "I know, Richard."

"You can't know," the young man said. His eyes had a haunted look to them, one that Draco had seen more than once but never this close up. "Every time you pass them in the halls, every time they speak to you ... their taint, their stench rubs off on you. I thought you, of all people, would understand the need to keep them away. But no. Instead, you bring one of them among us. Soiling our chambers. Corrupting our youth. I can't allow that."

Draco rested his arms on the edge of the bath. "You forget yourself, Richard. Or you forget who my father is."

"Not at all, Malfoy. You'd be hard pressed to find one who respects your family's legacy, our house's legacy more than I. That's why I'm going to do for you what my father did for me." His face twisted into a grotesque mask of hate. He reached into the pocket of his robe and produced a large scrubbing brush. The bristles appeared metallic and extremely stiff. It wasn't at all the sort of thing that should be used on a person. "I'm going to wash her off of you."

He wasn't right, Draco realised now; something was twisted in him, and one might as well be talking to a portrait. His distorted views were framed and preserved long ago. Draco wondered how long it would have taken before the same thing happened to him. But mostly, he thought about real terror. The possessed Quirrell looking straight into his eyes, perhaps recognising him—that was fear, _that_ was the most torturous moment in his life that seemed to go on forever, not what was about to happen to him now—

But he couldn't help it. When Selwyn's hand caught hold of his hair as he sprang into the bath without bothering to disrobe, and the first stripe of hot pain tore across his back, Draco began to scream.

* * *

Hermione was in the middle of a hushed conversation with Ginevra in the homey Gryffindor dormitories (Gryffindorms, Andrew Kirke had called them, and the name stuck) about what she'd been up to last night. The younger girl refused to say _how_ she knew Hermione had been in the dungeons with a whole crowd of Slytherins when she was supposed to be studying in the library. Ginevra just seemed to know where _everyone_ was at all times in the castle, including her. Luna mentioned something about a mysterious parchment the night they saved her life, but that only left Hermione with more questions.

"You know I've signed a contract with him," she explained carefully. "And so there are a lot of things I can't tell you. But I will say that Malfoy found a way to surprise me again."

Gathering from her tone that the meeting with all those Slytherins had been positive, Ginevra relaxed. "He does know how to keep a girl on her toes. But how did you ever start working for him? I still can't believe it."

"I can," Hermione said breathlessly, holding up a small green change purse that jingled with galleons. "He gave me all this just for last night! It's more money than I've ever had in my life, at least in the magical world. I had doubts at first—serious doubts—but all of my research supports his story. Muggleborns really do face an uphill battle here unless they apprentice themselves to a landed family and build a reputation."

Ginevra shrugged. "Sure. Didn't you ever wonder how they earned a place in wizardry to begin with? Mum told me one of the first things You-Know-Who wanted to do was outlaw adjutancy. And then dad said adjutancy was an 'outdated practise' that mostly dark wizards used and that's why we never took any, but I think it's really because we haven't got any money. I would hire you myself if I could."

"This is all so new to me! I can't believe Ron never told me. Well, on second thought maybe I can believe it. He thinks the whole pure-blood system Malfoy stands for is monstrous, and so did I until now. Do you know I stayed up all night before our agreement, inserting protective clauses in the contract so he couldn't ... well ... "

"Use you as a slave?" Ginevra finished, smirking.

"Yes! Or worse. But he hasn't tried anything of the sort. It's nothing like I thought it would be."

"Not to mention he saved your life."

She didn't know the half of it, Hermione thought. Draco had done something else that was just as important to her: he had opened her mind. Though she was a proud witch, her intellectual roots lay in the muggle world: a world that told her this must be a bigoted, sexist, and demeaning system, and she was selling herself out to it. And the bigotry was widespread, no question about it; stronger in some Slytherins than others, but the word 'mudblood' and its implications were never far below the surface. The rest of it, however ...

Hermione had kept her senses on high alert for the sexism, and it simply wasn't there. Draco had never treated her differently, touched her improperly, told her she must do this and not that because she was a girl. Her less prestigious status lent her a sort of freedom she had never expected. She had time to ask a few questions herself last night, and thus had learned a good deal about the pure and half-blood girls in Slytherin. Though all were expected to marry and produce heirs, the system didn't rush them into it; they were encouraged to pursue careers and do more or less whatever they wanted. Bullstrode wanted to be a Quidditch player, Parkinson a professional duellist, Greengrass a columnist, Roper a librarian ... most of them had prospects, or at least dreams. And as for being demeaned, if anything the Slytherin heirs and heiresses treated her much better since they learned of her employment. There were no face-to-face insults, no hexes; a few dirty looks but that was all. Some of them actually seemed jealous that Draco had the idea to hire her before they did.

Overall Hermione was forced to come to terms with a situation where she had been _wrong,_ and that wasn't easy. To her, parting with an old opinion was like the aftermath of a romantic break-up; she'd been gloomy and preoccupied throughout the day as she realised how mistaken she had been, allowing her house's bias against Slytherin to cloud her own perception. But talking with Ginevra had lifted her spirits, helped her to make sense of it all.

She was steering the conversation back towards the youngest Weasley and how well she was getting along with Draco when the redhead suddenly sat up on the side of Parvati Patil's bed.

"What is it?"

"My wand," she said curiously. "It sort of jumped in my pocket."

She took it out to see a familiar light shining from the end. Both girls jumped to their feet.

"Is it another attack?" Hermione said, shivering.

"Close your eyes and plug your ears while I find out," Ginevra commanded her.

"Really, Ginevra, I—"

 _"Do it."_

The redhead gave her a look not unlike the one she shot at Draco in Flourish and Blott's, and Hermione quickly obeyed. She could see now why all the other first-years were afraid of this girl, who gloried in Slytherin victories and made friends with homicidal ghosts. Moments later, Ginevra tapped her on the shoulder and tucked something back into her robe. "Selwyn's got Malfoy cornered in the prefect's bath."

"How would Malfoy even get in there? Well, they're both Slytherins anyway. Surely Selwyn wouldn't ... "

Ginevra jumped up. "Only one way to find out. Come on!"

They left through the Tower as inconspicuously as possible, and no sooner were they out of the Fat Lady's earshot than the striking visage of the Bloody Baron came gliding out of the wall on their left side. Hermione yelped and jumped back while Ginevra hardly blinked. "Baron?"

"He is in great danger, Ginevra, and the door has been warded shut behind them. I suggest you get help immediately."

The Gryffindors raced down to the dungeons to find Luna already stepping out from the sliding section of wall that led to the Slytherins' quarters. Her wand glowed lucent behind her left ear and right behind her, pale and shaken, came Gemma Farley.

"Selwyn," Ginevra said, and without another word they all dashed down the corridor.

* * *

Draco had stopped struggling. It wasn't doing any good. His strength was nothing next to the prefect's. When he begged, Selwyn ignored him. When he fought back, Selwyn plunged his head under the water. And all the while the brush came again, and again. It seemed endless. His body was a miasma of pain and he just wanted it to end.

"This is hurting me even more than it's hurting you, Malfoy," the mad voice said in his ear. "But it doesn't have to. We can go on just as if this never happened. All you have to do is renounce the mudbloods and traitors you call friends."

"Why?" Malfoy sobbed, turning his back and cringing in the corner of the bath. "So you can kill them?"

Selwyn chuckled sadly. "I don't know whether you're brave or stupid, Malfoy. But don't fret. I can scrub that off, too."

He raised the brush again.

The entire tub gave a sudden, shuddering jolt.

Selwyn nearly lost his footing. Moments later it happened again, then a third time. Some terrible force far beneath them had suddenly stirred and was trying to rend the room asunder. He would have presumed an earthquake, except that Hogwarts was warded against all natural disasters and the school was not located near any fault lines. He fell back against the other end of the bath as tiles throbbed and faucets came loose from the crumbling stone. The water churned around them, and the confusion in his eyes turned to dread as he realised what was happening.

Its gargantuan form surged forth, the elongated head breaching the surface between them. Water poured from its scales as it reared up before Selwyn, and—

Draco reached out with two trembling, bleeding hands and covered her eyes.

She seemed to understand. The great serpent held still, hissing threateningly at the prefect who cowered mere metres away. Her bared fangs glistened with lethal venom and her gaze, if ever the boy dropped his hands, would be death.

The brush fell from Selwyn's hand with a splash. He stood paralyzed against the stone, jagged metal shards from a broken faucet digging into the small of his back.

"There, there, Sister," Draco said soothingly for Selwyn's benefit, as the snake likely couldn't understand a word. He drew himself up, though he was hurt and frightened and hoarse from screaming. "You look as if you recognise her, Richard. I shouldn't wonder. Though she does seem to prefer my company, doesn't she?"

"It can't be," Selwyn whimpered.

Draco sneered. Opportunism, as always, was his salvation. He felt the pain and the trauma fade slightly as the gears in his mind began to turn again, seeing a chance to threaten and manipulate. "Clearly it is. The Malfoys have friends everywhere. I tried to warn you but you didn't listen."

"You ... you're the Heir of Slytherin?"

 _So even he doesn't know who the Heir is,_ Draco thought. _Dear Merlin. He's setting this thing loose and he doesn't even know who's commanding it?_

"Of course I'm not, you bloody lunatic. I'm far more than that. I'm the heir of all pure-blood society. What our legacy was supposed to be, before the biggest lunatic of all came along and mucked things up! That's what I am. And I'm here to clean up the mess you made. Now give me back the diary. I think Sister here is getting agitated."

"P-please. I ... I don't have it anymore."

"I save your life and you repay me with lies?"

Selwyn hid his face in the crook of his arm and reached out, trying to defend himself. "It's true, I swear it! He said it was too dangerous!"

"Then _who has it, Richard?"_

There was a great pounding on the door, then the muffled sound of someone shouting a password. It didn't open.

Sensing the possibility of discovery, Sister dove back into the water, shrinking until she was small enough to retreat through the drain. So that was how she got around the school so efficiently, Draco realised. Pansy was right. It _was_ the pipes.

Selwyn had the presence of mind to fumble his wand out of his sodden robes. Desperate to cast a healing spell or glamour charm and hide the evidence, he failed to secure his grip well enough and Draco slapped it out of his hand. Selwyn retaliated with a punch that sent him reeling back into the water and rolled out of the bath, crawling frantically after the wand, trying to avoid the ultimate Slytherin sin of getting caught.

Then a low, sinister voice shouted, _"Bombarda!"_

A terrific explosion sent the door tumbling from its hinges. Head of House Severus Snape strode in flanked by Gemma Farley. Close behind them came Luna, Ginevra, and Hermione who beheld the scene in disbelief: Draco with his skin scraped raw and bleeding, Selwyn staring back at them wide-eyed with his hand on his wand, and the prefect's bath in shambles.

Farley stared at her boyfriend accusingly with tears in her eyes; her throat had closed up, and she couldn't speak.

Snape's eyes were alight with cold fury. "Mr. Selwyn, I would suggest that you drop your wand."

Selwyn had sense enough to calculate his chances of escape. Three furious younger students with their wands drawn, a fellow prefect, and a former Death Eater who knew every dark spell under the moon. He sagged back onto the floor.

" _Accio_ Selwyn's wand," Hermione said, her voice trembling. It jumped from the floor into her hand. He looked at her in helpless revulsion.

The potions master was approaching the bath with an expression that bordered on outright sympathy. Draco looked away from it, snatching his undertunic from the floor and covering himself quickly. He would not show weakness. To Luna perhaps, but to his godfather, his adjutant, and Weasley's little sister ... never.

"Just a little in-house disagreement, Professor," he said mildly, hating how raw and shaky his voice sounded.

What little Snape had seen of the damage was enough to rekindle his anger. "You display an unexpected gift for understatement, Mr. Malfoy. I think it best that your friends escort you to the infirmary while Professor Dumbledore and I deal with Mr. Selwyn."

The rest of the evening went by in a haze. He knew he was in the hospital wing because he smelled healing potions and heard Madam Pomfrey bustling worriedly around his bed. But he lost all sense of time for a while, and the other voices swirling about him were only vaguely familiar. It was nearly pitch dark when he opened his eyes again, feeling warm breath on his neck. It was Luna, lying faithfully beside him on the cot. The curtains were drawn against prying eyes.

He drew his arms about her shoulders and held her close. Draco, she called him now.

He'd spent twelve years learning how to be a Malfoy, and was just now discovering who "Draco" was. A Malfoy did not make reforms, befriend girls, or suffer for his beliefs. "Draco" had done all these things.

Was this what Harry Potter felt when he went gallivanting around on wild goose chases, tromping all over wizarding traditions? That was what made all of Britain so crazy about him: that he sacrificed, that he suffered. And he thought his suffering was so _great._

Luna's eyes had opened.

"You are awake," she said. "How do you feel?"

"Better, with you here."

"Madam Pomfrey said you'll have to stay in here for a few days."

"I'm not surprised. How are you?"

"Angry," she said calmly. "I nearly lost control when I drew my wand. But I thought of my father, and I managed. As for the others ... Granger is impressed, and grateful, as well she should be. Ginevra is more upset than I. Dumbledore wanted to question you, do you remember?"

He felt a mild rush of panic. "No."

"You were rather in shock, Snape said. I think Dumbledore wanted to get you alone. Ginevra stood between you and him while Snape told him Slytherins can handle Slytherin affairs. Then Madam Pomfrey threw everyone out except me."

"Thank Herpo for small favors. Dumbledore ... think of the man! What could be so urgent that he wants to poke around in my brain when I'm half off the planet?"

"At first I thought it might be the wrackspurts ganging up on him, owing to his advanced age. Now I think he wants to know what you know, so that he can plan accordingly."

Draco grimaced. "What sort of plan? Something to do with his precious protégé, I'll be bound."

"Not as tightly as they are binding Selwyn tonight, I'm sure."

He chuckled a bit, but stopped with a gasp. It hurt too much. "Luna, all this foolish risk-taking, all these ... _different_ ideas of how things should be. Am I turning into Potter?"

She pushed up on her elbows and looked at him. Her hair fell across his chest and tickled his neck.

"No, Draco. You should never believe that, not for a moment. Harry Potter's thoughts are not his own. He sees what he is told to see rather than what is in front of him, and he makes enemies easily. He would never consider working with someone from his rival house, as we are doing with Ginevra and Granger. You are a pure and proper wizard, and you are taking your own path."

He breathed out slowly and gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Thank you, Luna. I was worried there for a moment."

"If ever you need someone to remind you that you are not Harry Potter," she said playfully, "I shall be here."

"De-wrackspurting kit in hand, I trust."

She held up the painted ear horn in front of him. "Always."

They breathed together until she fell back asleep. Draco looked up at the ceiling.

"I need you," he said in a voice that was less than a whisper. "Don't ever leave me."

* * *

Frye walked tentatively into the first-year boys' dorm the next morning and saw most of his fellow reporters waiting at the desk. He was holding their meetings early rather than late since Draco began sleeping in the room. He knew that Luna was using it too, but he wasn't about to tell anyone that. His sharp reporter's eye had witnessed enough moments between those two to know they had a very deep friendship, and he knew better than to do anything that would anger one of the most powerful students in his house.

And, speaking of Draco ... this was going to be a tough issue.

He sat down at his customary place directly behind the desk and got the ball rolling. "Morning, everyone. So what do you lot think? Are we really going to report this?"

"I say no," Nicolas Grimmett said flatly. "It's Sunday morning and we don't have time. Besides, this is a case of two snakes disagreeing over the direction of the house. I do think Selwyn went too far, but crying about it to the other houses won't accomplish anything."

Sykes nodded agreement. "It's not their business, Frye. Snape said we have to present a united front to the rest of the school and I see no reason to change that now."

Daphne, who was in Draco's year and had never really minded muggleborns, sat up in her chair in outrage. "We can't just cover this up! Granger and Weasley saw it! Salazar knows what sort of rumours are floating round Gryffindor already. We have to tell them something before they make up their own version of what happened."

"Greengrass is right," said Terence Higgs. His brown eyes were passionate under a mop of similarly coloured spiky hair. "'Sides, this is way too good a chance to pass up!"

"A chance at what, Terence?" said Sykes.

"Good publicity! 'Malfoy Heir Attacked for Support of Muggleborn Rights.' Talk about a headline that'll knock the school on its ass. We owe it to Malfoy to tell everyone."

Grimmett was unmoved. "We don't owe the little weasel a thing. He took it on his own initiative to bring that girl into our territory and he paid the price. Nobody held a wand to his head."

"Malfoy's father paid for the brooms that helped us beat Gryffindor! His donations fixed up our bathrooms last year! And you have the nerve to say we don't owe him anything?"

"All right, maybe we do, but he doesn't own Slytherin," Sykes said stubbornly.

Terence jumped on her defensive reaction. "His family is the horse that pulls the cart. Even a firstie knows that, right Frye?"

"Besides, the conference room was recognised as neutral ground a long time ago. The other houses rent it out all the time and Nearly Headless Nick threw a party there just last month," said Daphne.

"That's not the _point,_ Greengrass!" Grimmett snapped. "We're talking about letting in a mudblood! In there, and in our common room if Malfoy meant what he said."

Higgs threw up his hands. "So you still believe that after all we saw and heard Friday night, she's just another one of those degenerates?"

"They come in all shapes and sizes, Terence, I'll admit that; but one's as filthy as another in my book. If Malfoy wants to mix with them and spend his holiday hung upside-down by his ankles in his father's cellar, that's his business. I'll have no part of it! Does no one else have any standards in here? Adjutancy was done away with for a reason: because mudbloods are treacherous and can't be trusted, and if you can't see that you're not the Slytherin I thought you were!"

Even Sykes took exception to this. "You-Know-Who did away with adjutancy because it didn't suit his politics, Nic, and that's the only reason."

"You'll call him the _Dark Lord,_ Alex!"

"Enough!" Frye pounded the table with his fist, scattering papers. The rest of the staff obeyed out of shock as much as anything else, for no one had ever seen the normally cheerful boy upset before. "This is my newsletter. That man's time is over and we don't need to talk about him right now. And we shouldn't waste time arguing about who's better and who's worse, either. If I wanted that I'd be in Ravenclaw like my dad. And I know not all muggleborns are bad because I grew up just like them, Grimmett!"

The tall, gaunt prefect looked back at Frye in disbelief. No first-year had spoken to him that way in a long time.

"Now let's all take a long deep breath here, cousins."

There was a pause while everyone regained their composure. The silence was broken by odd hiccuping from Daphne who, when the others looked up, was staring blankly at the desk and gripping her elbows. Tears rolled down her cheeks.

"They're just _people,_ Nicolas," she said shakily.

Much of the tension in the room drained away as the other reporters tried to comfort Daphne. Sykes sat next to her and hugged her while Grimmett shuffled his feet on the floor.

"Look, Frye, Greengrass," he said uneasily, "I'm not saying what I'm saying to hurt your feelings. But you're still young, and ... you don't see. These people are dangerous. Of all the security risks in magical Britain they're by far the most dire."

"So we just wipe them out?" Sykes said quietly. "Forget it. Let our parents sit around and wait for another Dark Lord if they want to, but we know too much to go along with that anymore. Muggleborns had a place in our society before the war, and it's time we gave it back to them. If we make their success dependent upon ours, don't you think that makes them _less_ dangerous? Even a little?"

Grimmett bit his lip. "It's ... possible," he said grudgingly.

"I like Granger," Daphne wept into Sykes' chest. "I don't want her to die."

Frye cleared his throat. "All right, people, I can see it will take a while to agree on the muggleborn issue. But it's Sunday morning and I think we need to add something about Malfoy and Selwyn to the paper. Not a full story; we don't have time for that anyway. But I agree with Terence. We can get good publicity out of this without making Slytherin look like ... well ... "

"A house divided?" Terence said glumly.

"Right, that. Just a matter of using the right words and all." Frye scratched the back of his neck and sighed deeply.

He moved next to Sykes, as he often did when writing so that she could advise him or correct his mistakes. But before he could grab a fresh scroll and write a single word, there was a burst of purple sparks and an ominous-looking notice appeared on the inside of the door.

Given the recent controversy and the ongoing Ministry investigation, everyone was afraid to read it. Finally it was Grimmett who shoved back his chair and went to look at the parchment.

"From the Headmaster's office," he said dully. Frye started to stand up, but Grimmett held out his hand. "No, mate, you'd better sit down to hear this. It's an academic censure. They ... they're forbidding us to publish the _Scrawl."_

* * *

Word of the ban, and of Selwyn assaulting Draco, spread quickly at the morning meal. Draco and Luna's absence didn't help the mood. The Slytherin table resembled a funeral reception. For the first time anyone could remember, Head of House Severus Snape sat with the students and took breakfast there rather than eat at the same table as Dumbledore. He said nothing to his charges, except when he asked Farley to pass him the teapot, but they all understood.

With the ever-present psychological divide between Slytherin and everyone else, none of the other houses protested. That didn't stop some of their members, as well as every snake, from signing a petition by Sykes and Grimmett to withdraw the censure. But there was no one with the courage or authority to stand up for Slytherin, because standing up for them would mean standing against the Headmaster. For the first time Snape began to question his isolationist policy. If his house continued to be cowed by its recent history, resentfully cloistering itself away as the students' wealthy parents were doing from the rest of society, one could hardly expect the other houses to identify with the injustice they suffered. And if he knew Albus Dumbledore, which he had for many years, the old man was counting on it.

He also knew it wouldn't be long before he was summoned to answer for his mutinous gesture, and sure enough the note was waiting on his desk when he returned to the dungeons.

The Headmaster was refilling the dish of lemon drops on his ostentatious desk when Snape entered. "Ahh, Severus! Do make yourself comfortable."

Snape remained standing. The old man pretended not to notice. "I must prepare my ingredients for tomorrow's classes, Albus. What do you want of me?"

"Merely to satisfy my curiosity," Dumbledore said, stroking the feathers of his pet phoenix as it trilled and alighted upon his shoulder. "While your house's newsletter has been a most amusing exercise in amateur journalism, I am sure you understand the dangers of scurrilous allegations being spread by overexcited students. I admit I had expected you to bear the news more ... gracefully."

This argument was obviously specious. The rumour mill had always been active at Hogwarts, _Scrawl_ or no _Scrawl;_ his boss had never shown any concern about it until the rumours were about him.

"I was surprised, Headmaster. I had expected you to be far too busy addressing the MLE investigation prompted by the letters to bother with the publication that gave them voice."

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose. "Then we surprise each other, Severus. I do wonder how long you've suspected me of harbouring such a vindictive nature."

"I would hardly dare to guess at your nature, Albus. But for my part, I wonder how much longer you expect me to tolerate this treatment of my house. Treatment which I am ashamed to say I was an accomplice to."

"Accomplice," Dumbledore repeated softly. "My dear boy, you make the redressing of the balance here after the war sound criminal."

"We were the finest house at Hogwarts until the war. Until the Dark Lord's fate became a cudgel for certain parties to hold over our heads, with your consent."

"I will not deny that my duty to protect Hogwarts compels me to make decisions that those unused to such responsibility would find morally questionable. However, I dare say that the wizarding world would take just as much interest in your unedited history as mine—in the unfortunate event that both were to come to light."

"You need not remind me, Albus," Snape said with deathly calm, "that I was compelled to choose between Hogwarts and Azkaban. Indeed, I am reminded of it daily."

The Headmaster inclined his head agreeably. "Then I trust that in the future, you will tend to this matter with the discretion I have come to expect from you. If that is all ... "

"You are directly infringing on the liberties of my students," Snape said, risking tremendously by interrupting him. "That was not the agreement we made when I was appointed a professor."

"They are _my_ students, I do assure you." Dumbledore was untroubled as he stroked the phoenix's feathers. "And time advances so much more ruthlessly when one is old ... that my memories of that agreement seem to grow dimmer all the time. Good day, Severus."

Snape practically vibrated as he left the office. Over a decade's worth of blackmail and indentured servitude had robbed him of his independence, perhaps even his spirit, but not his bitterness. That unique quality, which up to now had been channeled in all the wrong directions, drove him to make his next move.

* * *

"And when, exactly," Lucius Malfoy snarled, "did _Dumbledore_ plan to tell me of this?"

He stood stock-still before his sitting room fireplace, fists clenched so tightly around his serpent's-head cane that his knuckles were white. His wife placed a delicate hand on his shoulder, to hold herself up as well as calm him down.

 _"In his own good time, I expect,"_ replied the voice of Severus Snape. The leaping flames looked downright bizarre as magic twisted them into the shape of his face. _"Under the circumstances, I thought you should hear it from me. The attack on your son was barbaric and most uncalled for."_

"My own flesh and blood assaulted, abused." Lucius was wild-eyed, every breath seething with ill intent. The regression from cultured politician to bloodthirsty Death Eater did not occur often, but when his son was threatened all bets were off. "This is how Albus Dumbledore protects his students? When I am through with him, he'll be mopping the floors of Hogwarts with his own beard!"

"We've no quarrel with the Selwyns!" Narcissa cried, her face ashen. "We just saw them at the Midsummer's Ball. How could their boy do this to Draco?"

Snape answered with the slightest moment's hesitation. _"We've been able to get little sense out of the young man. He rants on about dirty blood without answering any questions. At least Draco was more forthcoming."_

Lucius suddenly looked rather ill. "Questions? You don't mean to say Dumbledore ... "

 _"No. I was able to dissuade him from attempting legilimency this time, thank Merlin. The act itself is a violation of student rights, particularly when one goes about it so blatantly. I don't know whether it's old age finally getting the better of him, or his arrogance is such that he doesn't bother to hide what he's doing anymore. Whatever the case, your family secrets are safe from the Headmaster."_

"If indeed we had any," Lucius said with a shrug, now looking much better.

 _"Quite. According to your son and Miss Weasley, Mr. Selwyn took great objection to your son's association with Miss Granger of Gryffindor."_

"The girl is merely running his errands, Severus!" Narcissa protested.

"At least, she had better be," muttered Lucius.

"He inherited the right to take an adjutant at age twelve and he exercised it! The Selwyns have always been hardliners, but this is simply beyond the pale. If Draco is going to be in this much danger, Lucius, I think it best that he spend the holidays with us after all."

Lucius frowned. "We are due for another Ministry raid any week now, darling. Suppose it occurs while he is with us?"

"He has dealt with that before, the poor boy. Whatever may occur, at least he shall be here where we can protect him. Our wards, unlike Dumbledore's, are very much in working order. But then how could they not be, with a wizard of your skill to tend them?"

He smiled before turning back to the professor. "Severus, we must see Draco. Face to face."

 _"That will be difficult. Not even house-elves may apparate in and out of the school anymore."_

Narcissa folded her arms and glowered. "Of course. And yet trolls, possessed professors, and the Heir of Slytherin may stroll in and out at their leisure, if half the rumours are to be believed."

 _"Yes. If,"_ Snape answered mysteriously. _"Lucius, Narcissa ... we've always got on rather well, have we not?"_

"Certainly."

 _"And if, in the_ tragic _event that our beloved Headmaster was forced to step down and I no longer had his protection from the Ministry ... you would be obligated to testify in my defense, would you not?"_

Lucius became quite still, though not from anger this time. He nodded slowly. "As you did for me."

"A debt we have owed you for eleven years." Narcissa's eyes sparkled. "However ... forgive me, Severus, but you've been one of Dumbledore's staunchest supporters since the light won the War. What makes you so eager to get out from under him now?"

The face in the fire curled its lip. _"The War has never been over for me, Narcissa. It has been hanging over my head for far too long. Are you content to let Albus Dumbledore continue muzzling our newsletter, shunning our house, putting your son in danger, and pressuring the Ministry to raid your home?"_

"No," Lucius said resolutely. "We are not."

 _"And suppose_ — _hypothetically_ — _that the Dark Lord or some remnant of him still survives. If you could obtain all the power he once promised you by bloodless and legal means, before he ever had a chance to return ... would you be disposed to simply hand over wizarding Britain to a man who would torture your children for fun?"_

Husband and wife hesitated. In the days of the War, the very idea of treason could be detected via legilimency and punished mercilessly. This had conditioned them to block out any thoughts of disloyalty to the Dark Lord's cause, and it was a difficult habit to break.

"I should say not," Lucius said, finally.

"If we had that sort of power, there would be no need for ... " Narcissa stopped and winced as if in pain.

Her husband reached out to grasp her hand. "No need for a Dark Lord at all."

 _"Take a few days to ponder these possibilities, if you will,"_ Snape said. _"And I shall see what circumstances might allow for your son to visit you, perhaps as soon as next weekend."_

* * *

A decision on Selwyn was swiftly reached. Neither he nor Draco had given away any compromising information to Snape, and therefore the attack was written off as an act of anti-muggleborn hatred. The prefect was quietly removed from the castle Sunday afternoon and escorted back to his family's ancestral home, where he would finish the rest of his fall term. This ignominious exit, combined with a sensational account of the attack in the _Daily Prophet,_ tarnished a sterling academic record and did considerable damage to his reputation.

Snape's comments to the house on Monday morning were surprisingly candid, and everyone knew the situation. With his recovery aided by regular visits from the girls and several of his housemates, Draco returned to his common room that evening to widespread applause. Many embraced him warmly, and even Theodore seemed glad to have him back. Gemma was not present; she took to her bed after the attack and had not left the seventh-year dorm since.

"I guess your reasons weren't brilliant enough for Richard, hmm?" Pansy said, touching his arm with what little sympathy she possessed.

"There _was_ no reasoning with Richard, Pans," he told her. "Just as well that he's out of our way for a while."

She looked more closely at him. Something in his eyes seemed different. Older, perhaps.

"He really hurt you, didn't he?"

"Yes," Draco admitted in a quieter voice.

"And you're still going through with ... all this?"

"I have to. Things are different now. I can't just go back to the way things were before. I know some of us think I'm doing this to rebel against my family. I'm doing it to _help_ my family, and my house."

Pansy looked at him oddly. "That sounded almost noble, Malfoy. Are you sure you're quite all right yet?"

That old smirk slowly crept back onto his face. "Also, I'm looking forward to making Hermione press my robes."

Pansy threw back her head and laughed.


	15. Cass Effect

_A/N: I apologise for the pun in the title of this chapter. I was playing Mass Effect and one thing led to another. Over 100,000 words and this thing is still going! I think we're more than halfway through at this point. The tide may have turned in favour of Draco and his allies, and he won't hesitate to press his advantage. But first, our three main characters must have a serious talk. We'll also revisit some of our supporting cast and see some new faces, including Zacharias Smith_— _living proof that "blond" does not equal "protagonist" in this story. xD_

* * *

guest#12 (ch.14): _I'm glad I could manage a cute moment in the midst of such a terrible experience for Draco._

guest#13/Philkins27 (ch.14): _Thank you as always! To answer some of your questions: yes, we will have a follow-up scene with Draco and Gemma. Yes, Harry and Ron will most likely discover Hermione's connection to Draco in due time, but since Hermione is sworn to secrecy and most Slytherins are tight-lipped by nature, they do not know about it yet. And Snape dislikes a lot of people for different reasons; he is an equal-opportunity grouch. (Although he might be coming around to Ginevra and Luna.)_

ghostcrab311: _I know what you mean. Even I'm surprised at the path Draco has taken, and I'm the one writing him! Selwyn is crazy, no question, but to a great extent I think he's a product of his environment like Theodore and Warrington. Some people can overcome that, but sadly not all._

ReadingnerdOtaku: _A real table-flipper of a chapter, huh? Wait 'til we get to the climax. ;)_

Qinlongfei: _Again, great points and insight all around! Another gender issue that might occur to Hermione if she pays attention is this: Draco doesn't even mind that all of the new friends he's made this year are girls. He might be a little self-conscious when somebody points it out, but mostly it's not a big deal to him. You could say that Draco allowing Luna, Ginevra, and Hermione into his circle is breaking the mold of Slytherin as a "boys club", and he uses his social status to empower them rather than boss them around._

* * *

 **Chapter XV: Cass Effect**

 _To Headmaster Albus Dumbledore,_

 _We do regret to inform you that one of our dearest relatives, Cassiopeia Black (born 1915), has recently passed away at the age of 77. As her grand-niece it falls upon me to deliver this unhappy news, and request that our son Draco Lucius Malfoy, Honoured and Transcendent Heir of the houses of Malfoy and Black, newly crowned Seeker of the 1992-93 Slytherin Quidditch Squad, and Cruelly and Outrageously Assaulted While Under Your Protection_ — _yes, that Draco Malfoy_— _be allowed to join us in mourning at her memorial on Saturday, 28 November._

 _My husband and I would be most grateful if you could manage to prevent him being tortured, petrified, keel-hauled, lycanthropised, burned at the stake, hung in Argus Filch's dungeon, bludgeoned by trolls, trampled by centaurs, drowned by the Giant Squid, served over-sweetened tea, or subjected to illicit legilimency until that time. If for some reason you can not we trust you will notify us, as you neglected to do last weekend._

 _You will of course forgive me if the tone of this request seems a tad harsh. My husband and I merely wish to remind you that the vast majority of Slytherins do in fact have hearts, feelings, and consciences; thus, when I give birth to someone, I am inexplicably possessed by the urge to keep tabs on them._

 _Most Sincerely,_

 _Lady Narcissa Malfoy_

—

 _To My Dear, Sweet Boy,_

 _Words cannot describe how upset your father and I are to hear of the abuse you suffered. We are devastated that we were not there to protect you, and that the Headmaster failed to do so in our stead. Your willingness to protect our family reputation has thrust you into a great struggle for safety, liberty, and the hearts and minds of your Slytherin classmates_ — _a burden that you need not bear alone._

 _It hardly bears mentioning that Brandonis Selwyn has imbibed his last glass of wine, and Letitia Selwyn her last cucumber sandwich, on our property. The Selwyns' prestige has taken a blow from which it will take them generations to recover, and if your father and I have our way you shall never have to deal with their son again._

 _I have sent a letter to Dumbledore demanding that he release you from Hogwarts this coming Saturday to attend your Great-Great-Aunt Cassiopeia's funeral luncheon at noon. There will be a luncheon, and it shall be held at noon, but you need not mention to him that Aunt Cass passed away months ago. Your friend Miss Lovegood shall also be welcome, as will Miss Weasley if you can devise a way for her to visit in secret, though I must ask that you order Miss Granger to remain at Hogwarts for now. The Manor has not accommodated an adjutant in many years and, frankly, I feel your father needs a little more time to get used to the idea. Your godfather will safely escort you to the terminus of Dumbledore's anti-apparition wards in the Forest; from there, he and our house-elves will summon you home._

 _With All Our Love,_

 _Your Mother_

* * *

"Harry is related to you?!" cried Ginevra Weasley.

"Only by marriage, Ginevra," Draco replied stiffly, and gestured again to the large scroll he had unfolded. It contained the family trees of most established pure-blood families for centuries back, and stretched all the way down the kitchen table. "My Great-Great-Aunt Dorea Black married a man named Charlus Potter, who was the brother of one Henry Potter, who was the great-great-uncle of your precious Boy Who Lives To Annoy Me. And we're getting off the subject."

"But you are related by blood to Crabbe," Ginevra observed as she pored over the names listed. "And Marcus Flint, too! And Millicent Bullstrode ... "

"And you, through your paternal grandmother," Draco said impatiently. "That's one advantage of being pure: as long as you travel in the right circles you'll always have family somewhere. Now before we got sidetracked by Dorea Black—"

"She was very beautiful, Draco," said Luna, gazing at the charming illustration by the late witch's name.

Draco took a deep breath to avoid losing his temper. "Yes. She was. Now if we can get back on the subject of my other Great-Great-Aunt, Cassiopeia. It just so happens that—"

"I think your mother inherited her looks," Luna interrupted again.

"Luna. Could we focus on Aunt Cass now, please? Thank you. As I was saying—"

"Cass wasn't beautiful, though."

 _"Luna!"_ the blond shouted, finally at the end of his tether.

"Yes, Draco?" she said innocently.

After a moment of silence between the two, Draco seized her book-bag and pulled out her emergency de-wrackspurting kit. He proceeded to chase her all over the kitchen with it while shrieking house-elves scrambled out of their way and Ginevra laughed uproariously. After a minute she jumped in herself, trying to wrestle the ear horn away from Draco, and the three of them rolled across the floor and under the table. The struggle ended when both girls crawled atop him and pinned him to the floor.

"Fine, fine. You win." he coughed.

Luna stood up right away, but Ginevra lingered a moment longer like a lioness gloating over her kill. "That's what I like about you Slytherins. You know when to give up."

"Are you going to kiss me now, Ginevra?" Draco purred, imitating the voice he'd heard his father use with his mother sometimes.

Ginevra snorted in disgust and scrambled up, brushing off the front of her weekend robes.

"No. She is not," Luna said flatly. It sounded like she was talking to the other girl more than Draco.

Chortling to himself, he went to the nearest reflective surface and began fixing his hair. "Now, if we're all through being silly. The truth of the matter is that dear Aunt Cass died eight months ago. Her memorial is a cover. Mum and Dad needed to give Dumbledore a reason to let me spend a Saturday with them, since my being tortured by a bloke I considered a family friend wasn't good enough for him."

Both girls sobered at that. Ginevra's hands balled into fists while Luna lifted her chin and rubbed her fingertips together the way she did when something upset her.

"We have a lot to discuss. Not just Selwyn but the Chamber, the monster ... our wands. You've noticed how they get that peculiar light about them. Hermione's doesn't do that."

"Granger wasn't touching Luna when her light magic came out the first time. We were," Ginevra said logically. "And that was just a small glow. I think it really flares up when one of us is in danger."

Seeming to recall that it was Tuesday morning and breakfast time was already half over, Luna skipped to the center of the table and fetched them all some crumpets. "But it happened when Sister left the Chamber of Secrets too, did it not? And none of us was in danger then. I wonder what that could mean."

Draco looked into his mostly empty glass of pumpkin juice as if it held the answer. But in truth, he already knew.

"It means she's connected to me, just as much as either of you. She told me last night, in our dream. She knew when I was in trouble. Or as she put it: _"I've come to know your ssscreams very well, Dream Ssspeaker,"_ he said, imitating Sister before biting into his crumpet.

Ginevra's mouth fell open. "Dream Speaker! That's what Harry says he heard on Hallowe'en. He's been going crazy wondering what it meant. It was you all along!"

Unlike her brother, Draco finished chewing and swallowing before he spoke. "Scarhead overheard her, did he? Well, as he's a parselmouth I guess it's no surprise. I'll tell her to stop talking to herself in the corridors."

"How long has Slytherin's monster been talking to _you?"_

He thought for a moment and decided he could safely reveal this part without tipping her off about the diary. "I've dreamed of her since the summer, Ginevra. Or you could call them nightmares, terrible ones. I died ... I died every night for months. She would hunt me, look in my eyes, and kill me. Of course I didn't know what she was then, but it was bloody awful. Last month, something changed. Instead of killing me she started talking to me, and then someone else appeared too; a boy who called himself the Heir."

"The Heir of Slytherin!"

"I think now that it must have been. And a right wanker he was, too. Didn't get a good look at him but it sounded like he wanted me on his side, if I remember it right ... trying to get me all wound up about purifying Britain and the like, and I wasn't impressed. It was the same speech I'd been hearing from Theodore and his dad for years. Then the snake and I got to talking. That's when I named her Sister ... you know, as one snake to another, and she called me the Dream Speaker. And just like that we were friends, you could say. The Heir prat really pitched a fit. Haven't seen him since, but I have seen plenty of Sister."

 _"Friends!"_ Ginevra was quite beside herself. "Then why did all of this happen? Why is she still hunting mudbloods?!"

Draco was momentarily speechless at hearing her of all people blurt out that word. The old Sorting Hat must be going as senile as Dumbledore for having sent her to Gryffindor; this girl was a _Slytherin_. Come to think of it, her sorting had taken nearly as long as Luna's ...

"Sad, isn't it?" Luna helpfully explained when Draco didn't reply. "That poor Sister must hunt muggleborns when the Heir orders her to. And after being bred for that very purpose, she can hardly resist it now. All she can do is warn Draco when she is summoned, before she loses control. I think that's quite friendly indeed, for a basilisk."

How, Draco pondered, had he never realised Ginevra's true nature before now? She disregarded blood purity on principle yet gravitated towards it on instinct. She had girlish designs on Harry Potter, yet the fantasies she whispered to Luna (when she thought Draco couldn't hear) involved money and recognition with Scarhead as a means to an end. Her bluntness, which he had so often mistaken for coarse Weasley manners, was in fact the careless insolence of a predator surveying its domain. Though Draco had long ago accepted Luna's fondness for her and the wisdom of keeping a potential enemy close by, he was beginning to respect the little spitfire.

"Well, she did stop Selwyn from hurting you any more," Ginevra said warily. "Just don't get too attached to her. I mean, she will have to be ... dealt with with sooner or later, if you know what I mean."

Draco knew exactly what she meant. "You could be right. Well, that's what I need to discuss with mother and father, and a whole lot more besides." He took a deep breath. "More to the point, that's what _we_ could discuss with them. Their invitation was extended to you as well."

"As in Luna _and_ me?"

"'Luna and I'. Yes."

"But your parents hate me. Not to mention mine would kill me."

"You're eleven, Ginevra. You're too young for them to hate. Just don't talk politics and don't tell anyone you visited. What your family doesn't know won't hurt them. We're a package deal now, like it or not."

Ginevra looked dazed. She reached into her ratty bag and pulled out a flier for that Thursday's duelling club meeting where many team matchups were advertised.

"Did you do _this,_ too?" she said, pointing to one of the squads near the bottom:

 **PADMA PATIL (Rav 2nd), R. BELBY (Huf 1st), Z. SMITH (Huf 1st)**

 **VS**

 **D. MALFOY (Slyth 2nd), L. LOVEGOOD (Slyth 1st), G. WEASLEY (Gryf 1st)**

Untroubled, Draco finished off his juice. "Certainly not. If it were my idea, I'd have asked your permission. I'll make them switch you out for someone else."

"Think nothing of it, Ginevra. No doubt someone in your house was trying to be funny," Luna said soothingly.

Ginevra's eyes darkened. "Yeah, and I bet I know who. If Fred and George think they're going to get away with this ... "

Draco cleared his throat. "Much as I would like to help you take revenge on the twins ... back to my parents' invitation. I know it sounds crazy, but I hope you'll at least consider it."

"Both Draco and I would love to have you," said Luna. "Granger is covering for your being here with us, correct? Surely she can do it again on Saturday."

The youngest Weasley had gone quiet. This was all too much to absorb. The last member of Draco Malfoy's family ever to consort with a Weasley was poor old Granny Cedrella, disowned by the Blacks and condemned as a blood traitor in 1937 (though still quite lively and cantankerous as ever). Was she really going to drop by their manor for _lunch,_ fifty-five years later?

She was silent for what seemed like a long time while they finished their crumpets. The sleeve of Draco's robe draped open and she caught a glimpse of a nasty red welt on his wrist, one of many all over his body. Madam Pomfrey's potions dulled the pain, but the marks would take weeks to heal. All through his recovery he'd never once complained, milked his injuries, or said anything against the boy who caused them. He had a look about him that suggested he was plotting something, but that was common.

Draco simply gathered himself and carried on. He still planned to invite Hermione into the common room that weekend. For a Slytherin he sure had guts, or at least a vast amount of confidence. If a boy who'd been sheltered and spoiled all his life could summon that kind of strength then surely Ginevra herself, who grew up in a falling-down house with more dirt than money in her pockets, was brave enough to pay him a visit.

"Draco ... I know you thought of Selwyn as a friend. Because of that, and because Luna wants me to ... I'll accept your invitation."

"Thank you."

"I lost a friend myself some time ago," she went on, thinking of Tom. She hesitated a moment, perhaps thinking back to just how many times she had run into Draco since losing the diary, and her stare took on just a trace of suspicion. "Not that you would know anything about that."

He could feel Luna watching him as he shrugged, meeting her eyes effortlessly and giving nothing away.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Ginevra," he said calmly. "I'm afraid I didn't know Richard Selwyn nearly as well as I thought I did. Was it like that for you and your friend?"

Ginevra considered this. "I'm not sure, really. I loved talking to him, and ... he was a wonderful listener. It tired me out, being around him, but it was worth it."

"How did you lose him?" Luna asked.

"You might say somebody stole him from me."

She studied him more closely this time. Draco didn't blink. "You don't say."

"I do say."

"Suppose ... just for the sake of argument, you understand ... that it could have gone worse. That this bloke wasn't what he seemed, and was just going to betray you once he had your trust, like Richard did me. Would you still want his friendship, knowing that?"

Her clear blue eyes drifted upward as she contemplated this almost unwillingly. "Let's say I did trust him, Draco, and that I told him everything about me. Things I've never told anyone else. He doesn't get to leave with that. If I can't have him, no one can."

 _Slytherin_ , Draco's mind screamed again.

* * *

 _The Quibbler_ was a publication given to wild flights of fancy. In August 1985, it came out with a special issue about a demonic giant potato that had gained sentience and escaped Ireland to carry its reign of terror through Czechoslovakia, Germany, and finally the States. (No concrete evidence was ever found.) In February 1988, another special issue proclaimed that a band of giants had rebelled and were vandalizing Rosier Manse; after investigating the area himself, Xeno later printed an apology and a correction that the extensive damage to the Rosiers' ancestral home was due to neglect, and promptly launched a fundraiser to fix up the house. (Arachna Rosier and her grandson Felix were eternally grateful.) Due to this history, it did not seem particularly unusual when another special issue about alleged vampire and werewolf battles in the Forbidden Forest was published in late November 1992.

What _was_ unusual, if one chose to read far enough towards the back, was the series of "guest columnists" delivering the latest news and gossip about Slytherin and Hogwarts in general. Their names were Frye Harper, Alexandra Sykes, Nicolas Grimmett, Daphne Greengrass, and Terence Higgs. Quite mysteriously, this became the most popular issue of _The Quibbler_ ever to be circulated around Hogwarts.

The Headmaster soon got wind of this, but while banning a student publication was one thing, banning an independent publication whose editor-in-chief had the support of Druella Black _nee_ Rosier's sister—and more recently the Malfoys—was something else entirely. The gauntlet Dumbledore had thrown down was being picked up and flung back in his face. With this new platform and the notoriety generated by the ban, the Slytherin Scrawl (though it could no longer use that name) became more popular than ever.

So it was that Morag Ollivander and the Carrow twins were observing—some might say spying—from behind a high-backed lounge chair when Draco and Luna returned to the commons that evening.

"What are they doing?" Morag whispered, squinting.

"I've told you before, Ollivander, you ought to get your eyes fixed," Hestia chided her, pausing as Flora whispered something in her ear. "Flora says glasses would look better on you though. Anyway, they're comparing notes. Transfiguration, I think. Luna's really gotten better since she began studying with him."

Morag shook her head. "Look at them. It's like they're _married_ or something."

Flora tittered behind her hand and again whispered to her sister.

"Flora wants to know if you're jealous."

Morag was not amused. "Of Luna? Please! What's so great about being around that creepy weasel all the time? And his crazy family, and his pet muggleborn ... _ugh._ She even sleeps in the same room as him. We really should tell someone. It's for her own good, don't you think?"

The twins rolled their eyes. "Oh, Ollivander! What an imagination you've got. It's not as if he could take advantage of her. Did your mother not give you 'the ward talk' yet?"

Morag turned a shade of pink that was very amusing next to her carrot-coloured hair. "Of course! I only meant it's improper."

"They're just friends." Hestia paused to translate a whisper from Flora. "Luna would never forgive you if you told on her and she's got some powerful friends here, Flora says. Besides, she's always been quite good to us ... oh, look!"

They watched as Frye Harper came rushing out of the first-year dorm to talk to the blonds. He was holding the special issue of _The Quibbler_ and smiling away.

"What's that all about?" Hestia whispered.

"Didn't you know? Luna's father pulled the _Scrawl_ out of the fire again. He's printing us in his magazine!" Morag passed her copy over to the twins. "Good thing too, I don't know what Frye would do with himself otherwise. Did you know he grew up like a muggle? His family's not that strong magically; quite a few squibs, I hear, and his parents didn't want him disappointed if he turned out to be one of them."

"It was his father ended up disappointed, when he got sorted here," Flora said, again through Hestia. "As if that were such a terrible thing."

Morag frowned. "I know! I can already hear Great-Uncle Garrick clucking and tut-tutting at me when I see him during holiday. Why should we have to put up with seven years of this?"

"We shouldn't, Ollivander, and if you're of a mind to change things you'd best get behind Malfoy, no matter what you think of him."

Frye finished his profuse exclamations of thanks and surprised Luna with a hug, causing Draco's pleasant expression to falter just a bit. Frye mollified him with a handshake and ran off to bed in the second-year dorm, where _he_ didn't technically belong either, but Blaise had taken a liking to him and allowed him to stay. Draco and Luna then retired to the first-year dorm. Moments later, a red-eyed Gemma Farley crossed the common room and knocked on the door.

"Poor Farley, she's been beside herself since her boyfriend attacked Malfoy," said Hestia. "I would be, too."

"What do you suppose she wants with him?" asked Morag.

A low, rolling voice with a distinctive Cockney accent sounded behind them. "I'd say that's none of your business, girls."

It was chubby Cyril Meakin, standing there with a bemused look on his round face. The first-years stood up guiltily from the couch.

"Run along, you three," he said. "Anything Farley wants to discuss with Malfoy is prefect business."

"What about Selwyn? Was that prefect business too?" Morag answered.

"Selwyn disappointed us, Morag, and I can promise you he'll never be trusted with a badge again. Now move, and don't make a habit of talking back to me neither."

The girls moved.

* * *

"Malfoy," Gemma said uncertainly. She stepped just far enough into the room to shut the door behind her. Her voice was ragged. She looked as though she'd hardly slept since Saturday.

Draco said nothing. He stood up from the news desk beside Luna and waited.

Gemma barely glanced at the other girl. She zeroed in on Draco. "I suppose I owe you an apology."

"Do you," he said without expression. There was only one person, besides Selwyn himself, who he blamed for the assault. He had no intentions of letting her get off easy. "Would you care to know what I suppose, Gemmalyn Farley?"

She reached up and wiped her eyes, looking ready to sink through the floor. She might be five years older than him but her family was far less prestigious, their standing almost entirely dependent on the Malfoys' favor, and everyone knew it. By allowing him to come to harm she had jeopardized that standing and incurred a debt that would not be easily paid off.

"I _suppose_ that you owe me more than just an apology." Draco's vision blurred with tears. "And I _suppose_ you had better leave me alone until you're prepared to offer it."

"What do you want?" Gemma said helplessly. "I didn't know he was going to ... well ... you know."

Luna finally spoke, though the voice that came out was like cold steel, barely recognisable as hers. "Follow Draco into the prefect's bathroom and try to flay his skin off?"

Draco took her left hand and felt her fingers twitch. He didn't realise until then just how furious she still was. She must have come very close to drawing her wand.

The prefect shuddered and looked away. "I swear to Salazar, Malfoy. He promised he was just going to talk to you."

He looked at her with disgust. "And you believed him. Being closer to him than anyone else. Knowing all term long how close he's been to cracking up."

"I love him," she said miserably.

"That's not my problem!" he shouted, pulling back one sleeve and showing her the marks. Days of pent-up anger and indignation finally erupted. "What about me, Gemma? Does my safety mean anything to you? Do _I_ mean anything? You were like a sister to me, or so I thought. Now I don't know what you are anymore!"

"Don't say that," she pleaded. The desperation in her voice calmed him, reassured him. The more composure she lost, the more self-control Draco regained. "You know how much I care about you. I'll do anything Malfoy, really I will, just don't tell your father—"

"He's already heard. In detail. I'm afraid that part was out of my hands," he said carelessly. Actually he wasn't certain whether Snape had mentioned the girl's name or not, but if that was what she feared—and oh, Circe, he could _taste_ that fear—then he might as well exploit it. "You want to make this up to me, do you?"

Gemma nodded. "Anything that doesn't compromise my duties, I'm willing to do. Please, Lord Malfoy."

"Very well. I need you to bring the other prefects on board with what I'm doing. I don't want any more incidents like Saturday night. Any Slytherin who wants an adjutant is free to recruit one and bring them into our territory if they wish. When they visit, I expect any prefects not on duty to monitor the common room and make sure they're safe here. I'll be bringing Hermione in Saturday after dinner, and you're to help her with anything she needs. Understand?"

Gemma was not enthusiastic. Salazar preserve them, she thought, from the sentimental whims of this boy. She could only hope that despite the rather wild suggestions her boyfriend had made in his unguarded moments, the Dark Lord really was dead. Otherwise Malfoy was likely to get them all killed.

"I understand," she replied quietly.

"Also," Luna chimed in, sounding a bit more like her usual self now, "We have reason to believe that your boyfriend was putting other students in danger. We must ask that you tell us everything you know about what he was planning."

The tomboy sighed and shook her head. "After what happened to you, Malfoy, I wish I could. But that's all news to me. Richard is very secretive. He hates muggleborns and I don't, so it wasn't something we talked much about. He never told me he was planning to _do_ anything about them. If he did I would have tried to talk sense into him."

"See that you do when you visit him next month," said Draco. "But we won't hold our breath."

* * *

The second meeting of the Duelling Club was a good deal more organized than the first. Participation had dropped off by roughly a fourth, as some students decided it just wasn't for them and others were intimidated by the prowess of the stronger competitors. (In particular, no one wanted to duel Pansy or fourth-year Hufflepuff Cedric Diggory, a skilled wizard and Quidditch player who led his team to a surprise victory over Ravenclaw last weekend.) But the ones who remained knew well enough to take it more seriously. practise sessions had been held by all four houses in the past week, and the inclusion of inter-house and inter-year team duels was exciting as well. Even though the nastier spells were off-limits, combatants could only be separated by one year, and all matchups had to be even, this allowed for many intriguing possibilities while giving everyone a chance to show what they could do.

Not surprisingly, one of the teams in action was the Golden Trio. As Harry Potter entered the Great Hall, all he could think about was getting even with Draco Malfoy. Snape put them up against each other often enough that Potter was counting on getting his chance tonight. Not even a blurb in _The Quibbler_ about that "altercation" with Selwyn in the prefect's bath had changed his mind about the blond. Potter believed there had been an altercation and that Draco was actually hurt; Hermione made that clear on no uncertain terms. But she made it sound as if he were an innocent victim, and as Weasley pointed out, what were the odds of that? She didn't seem to understand the boy was dangerous. The last few times they encountered Draco in the halls, Hermione had not seemed upset or even troubled to see him. She was much quieter and busier than she had been last year, always rushing off to the library or Moaning Myrtle's bathroom to tend the polyjuice—though rarely at night.

Word was going around that muggleborns should never roam the halls alone after dark. With Malfoy and his monster on the loose, that was definitely for the best. But the crazy thing was that the spoiled brat seemed to be getting more popular at Hogwarts every week. Some of the Ravenclaws even took to calling him "the Boy Who Beat the Boy Who Lived," and it drove Potter wild. _He_ was the one they were all supposed to look up to, not Malfoy!

"Something's going on, mate," Weasley muttered next to him. He was pointing across the hall at Loony Lovegood and the preening prat. "Look, he's _talking_ to her."

"Of course he's talking to her, they're friends," Potter said irritably. Then someone else moved and he saw who Weasley was referring to: Ginevra! What was she doing over there by the snakes? "Oh. Your sister. Hold on, I'll break it up."

Weasley grabbed his shoulder and stopped him. "No, look closer. He's smiling. You ever seen Malfoy grin like that? He looks almost human."

"There's a reason why those three are chatting," Hermione said as she walked up to them and handed Harry a copy of the duelling schedule. "But I'm afraid you're not going to like it, Harry."

Potter adjusted his glasses and looked at the matchups.

"She's on _Malfoy's_ team?!"

Hermione looked sympathetic. "Well, someone entered her name there at any rate. I think it was one of Fred and George's pranks."

The redheaded boy looked over his shoulder at the parchment and tried not to cringe. "I can't believe those two. Guess she could do worse though, eh?"

"What do you mean?"

"Just that Malfoy and Loony are pretty good, is all. I mean, Loony did get the better of Gin—I mean Ginevra—and Malfoy, well, he did beat you."

Potter was seething. "He did not beat me! All he did was make me drop my wand!"

"It's the same thing, Harry," Hermione said, not without sympathy. "Established wizarding tradition and the rules of the Club state that—"

"Hermione, you're not helping!"

"Let's leave Harry alone for now," Weasley said, beckoning her aside. "Maybe you could give me some tips on duelling instead, 'Mione. You are really good with that sort of thing, plus I don't know who we're facing yet and ... my wand isn't in good shape."

She smiled gratefully. "I'd be happy to, Ron."

"Sorry if I've been ... you know, a bit of a ponce lately."

Hermione shook her head. "You don't have to apologise. There's quite a lot going on, isn't there, with the Heir of Slytherin business, and I know I haven't been around as much to get between you and Harry."

"It's not just that." Weasley fished his mangled wand from his robe and looked at it morosely. "Yeah, it's driving us crazy not knowing what Malfoy's up to, but I'm having a bit of a hard time in class this year. Well, more than a bit. I know I shouldn't try to copy off you all the time. It's not that I'm afraid to ask you for help, but ... "

Hermione thought back to some of the advice Draco had given him before and during her meeting with the Slytherins. "I give you too much information."

He nodded and dropped his eyes. "Yeah. Didn't want to say it, because it just makes me feel dumb."

"You're not dumb, Ron. You know more about magic than anyone I know! I don't think I ever told you how much that's helped me, and Harry. I was learning so much from my books at first, that ... until this year I didn't realise what I _wasn't_ learning. Like how to present myself. How to make a future for myself when school is over with. But I'm sorry, I'm talking about myself again. Suppose you show me what you're stuck on and we'll give it another try? I won't talk your ear off this time, I promise."

Weasley's smile made his whole face light up.

Just out of earshot, Potter watched Snape and Flitwick ascend the stage and call the Club to order. The greasy-haired ghoul had a menacing gleam in his eye that was rarely seen in his regular potions classes, unless he was taking points away from Gryffindor. Almost all the Slytherins wore a similar expression, ready to draw their wands and begin at a moment's notice.

If there was anything about them that really unnerved Potter, apart from Voldemort having been one of them, it was their opportunism. They would do anything to get an edge, and once they had gained the advantage they pressed it relentlessly. Pride and laziness had been their undoing more than once, at least during Potter's first year. But he began to understand this was not the same house that had constantly underestimated him, bullied muggleborns, and bolted when the sides were even. They were still prejudiced, cruel, and underhanded to be sure, but something had lit a fire under them.

Potter's thoughts went back to the hazy end-of-term dinner when Dumbledore stood and awarded massive amounts of last-minute points to him, Weasley, Longbottom and Hermione for accomplishments no one else had witnessed or even understood. It wasn't necessarily the way he expected, or even wanted Gryffindor to win the House Cup, and for a moment he wondered if it was the right decision after all.

No, of course it was. Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard in the world. He was too smart to make mistakes, and the whole controversy about legilimency was just a ploy by the Slytherins and their pure-blood families to discredit him. It _had_ to be. If Potter was failing, then it was his fault and his alone! He had to push himself harder, to make his house proud of him again.

The first-year matchups were all short and sweet. Morag Ollivander and the Carrow twins had their way with a trio of Ravenclaws; for such a young witch, that Hestia girl cast a mean summoning charm. He was proud to see Seamus, Dean, and Colin beat Greengrass, Roper, and Harper. Then Malfoy, Lovegood, and Ginevra's turn came.

Malfoy moved as if he were going to talk to Snape, but Ginevra stepped into his path and shook her head, eliciting a vague smile from Lovegood. What the devil was going on? Surely she didn't _want_ to team with those two! Potter moved closer as Fred and George, each more red-faced than the other, went to intercede on her behalf.

"Professor, she didn't even enter her name!" George said.

Fred nodded adamantly. "It was us, really it was!"

"Just a joke, you know?"

"A prank!"

"A con!"

"Merely in jest!"

"Ha ha ha, you know? For laughs?"

"It's that thing people do when they're happy!"

"Not to say you've never been happy, sir," George added quickly, nudging Fred to be quiet.

Snape was in no mood for their banter. "Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Weasley."

Professor Flitwick looked closely at Ginevra. "Miss Weasley. Is this true?"

Ginevra let both of her twin brothers squirm for a moment. Then she looked sadly up at Snape. "I'm not going to lose more points for my house by trying to get out of this, Professors. If the card says I'm to duel next to two Slytherins, then that's what I'll have to do."

The Gryffindors gaped. Some of them rounded angrily on Fred and George for getting their sister into this mess. Seamus Finnegan started yelling from the back. "But it was a joke! A _joke!"_

"And one we have all enjoyed immensely." Snape smiled nastily. "A wise decision, Miss Weasley. Join your teammates."

Potter looked to his friends. Ron was about to intervene and probably lose more points for their house in the process, but Hermione put her hand on his arm and stopped him. Was this really going to happen? How could a lion and two snakes possibly function as a team?

Padma Patil stood opposite Malfoy with her junior teammates, both of whom were Hufflepuffs. Rebecca Belby was the spirited, rosy-cheeked younger sister of Marcus Belby, a talented third-year Ravenclaw; Padma's friendship with them had no doubt made this an easy choice. Zacharias Smith was another matter; Padma must have settled on him because no better options were available. The shifty, nervous blond boy acted like he would sooner flee the hall than raise his wand in combat. Potter disliked him on sight.

Flitwick reluctantly started the match, and all hell promptly broke loose. Ginevra immediately started moving, ducking and rolling to avoid anything Smith threw at her. Lovegood wielded her wand with nonstop slashing movements, blending actual spells with convincing feints; it was crudely done, but with several years' practise it could become quite sophisticated, even seamless. Malfoy and Padma each sniped at each other from behind weak _Protegos_ until Malfoy appeared to be hit and crumpled to the stage. Padma gave a celebratory whoop, but the Slytherin was just playing possum like the rodent he was; he sprang to his feet and sent her flying with _Everte Statum._ His disarming charm was a mere formality when it connected.

Seeing his teammate fall, the Smith boy threw down his wand in the most cowardly display Potter had witnessed in some time. Ginevra either didn't notice this or deliberately ignored it, because she unleashed a _Petrificus Totalus_ that sent him crashing down stiff as a board. Lovegood and Belby's duel went on for a minute longer. When Belby called her next bluff and clipped her with a stinging hex, the blonde's silvery-blue eyes went wide with fury. Malfoy and Ginevra moved to gang up on their last opponent, but Lovegood waved them back and cast a dancing hex too quickly for the other girl to dodge, and it connected squarely.

As the other students looked on, Lovegood skipped up to her and mockingly danced along with her forced movements. Malfoy compounded Belby's humiliation with _Rictumsempra._ Wheezing and rolling on the floor, the Hufflepuff was helpless. Ginevra didn't even bother with _Expelliarmus;_ instead she strolled over and pried the wand from the girl's hand. The Hall fairly erupted with applause, and as Flitwick announced them the winners, all three of their wands lit up softly.

"Swipe me," Weasley whispered incredulously to Potter. "I'm still going to kill Fred and George for getting her into this ... but I have to admit, they're bloody good."

Potter grit his teeth. It was true, but he didn't have to like it. "That light. We've seen that before. What is it?"

Neither boy saw Hermione crack a guilty smile as she stepped up next to them.

"Probably one of Malfoy's parlour tricks," she said.

* * *

It was a most unusual contingent that filed into the Forbidden Forest at eleven-thirty Saturday morning. A grimly determined Severus Snape led the way with his wand in hand, ready to protect his young charges at a moment's notice. It was ridiculous that Dumbledore required them to take this route to get outside the anti-apparition wards, instead of going the other way to Hogsmeade or simply using the floo in his office, but such was life for Slytherins at Hogwarts. Besides, Dumbledore could monitor who was coming and going through the floo network, and Snape wanted to prevent him finding out the Weasley girl was with them at all costs.

Draco Malfoy followed with his head down in an elegantly tailored black robe with glittering silver buttons and cufflinks bearing his family crest, keeping up the pretence of a pure-blood in mourning. Luna Lovegood was next in line wearing a long maroon dress with black ruffles, a black band on her left arm, and a corsage on her right wrist with a maroon rose; the ensemble didn't go well with a butterbeer cork necklace, but then neither did anything else. She had left her radish earrings behind in favour of beets, having explained to Draco that wearing shades of dark red to funerals was a family tradition, and eating beets had always made her sad. Ginevra Weasley followed in her school robe, which was not only the newest article of clothing in her possession but the only one suitable for the alleged occasion. She had dressed it up as best she could with a decent pair of black formal shoes lent to her by Hermione and an emerald sash, borrowed from Pansy at Draco's request; it concealed the Gryffindor insignia and would be a respectful gesture to Aunt Cass—who, like most of Narcissa's family, had bled green and silver.

Hermione Granger brought up the rear. As she would not be leaving with them, she wore a simple brown sweater and matching skirt with her school tie. Like Ginevra, her figure was mostly hidden beneath a grey hooded cloak, both to ward off the cold and conceal them from any prying eyes. It was one thing for them to know the youngest Weasley was willing to duel alongside Draco; it was quite another for her and Hermione to be seen on a weekend excursion with him. Walking all this way with Snape, with him never once belittling her or taking points away, was already strange enough. "Awkward" was not the word.

"I shall be gone but a moment while I apparate to Malfoy Manor and fetch one of their elves," Snape explained crisply. "as I have yet to successfully transport more than two people and shall _not_ be attempting it here. Stay where you are."

His dark brows furrowed in concentration and he blinked out of sight.

"This is it, then," Hermione said, pacing nervously back and forth. "All of you will be careful, won't you?"

Draco gave her a bored look. "We're simply visiting my parents, Hermione. We're in more danger waiting in this forest for sixty seconds than we will be in my house for sixty minutes."

"I suppose you're right, Malfoy," she conceded, but she still looked uncomfortable.

Snape reappeared before them with a decisive _crack,_ looking rather put out.

"Professor? Where's the house-elf?" Draco said uncertainly. Then there was another cracking sound, and he felt a sudden weight on top of him. Noting the appalled expressions of Snape and his friends, he slowly turned his head and gazed into the mad green eyes of a dun-coloured little creature sitting astride his shoulders. Her bizarre appearance was accentuated by white eye shadow and lipstick, both rather sloppily applied. She wore a matching tea-towel that looked almost new, and a wreath of pale vines and white flowers around her ears completed the ensemble.

"Has Little Master got a kiss for Bitsy?!" she cackled.

"Get _off_ me!" Draco bellowed. He threw the elf to the ground as Ginevra and Hermione looked on in shock. "Got into mother's makeup again, did you? Good! Maybe this time she'll finally get rid of you!"

Bitsy did a handstand and sprang backward onto her feet, completely unharmed as always. "Mistress is allowing Bitsy to dress up for Mistress' great-aunt's memorial! Such an honour, yet such sorrow it is ... _oooohhhhhh!"_

The elf put her hands to her face and began bawling.

"Bitsy, we're not really going to a memorial! We already had one when Aunt Cass died. It was eight months ago!"

Snape cleared his throat over Bitsy's sobs. "Mr. Malfoy, you know quite well that any attempt to make your mother's house-elf see reason is an exercise in futility. We should be going."

"Little Master's Uncle Greasy is being right!" the elf agreed, wiping her tears away. "There is being all the time in the world to grieve and but an hour for Little Master to host his Loonytunes, his Chimaera, and his mudblood!" She indicated Luna, Ginevra, and Hermione respectively. Everyone looked at her with umbrage or confusion except for the redhead, who was struggling not to laugh.

"This girl is an adjutant of our family now," Draco warned her, "and you'll not call her by that name again, or my mother really _will_ be cross with you. Besides, she won't be joining us anyway."

Bitsy heaved a sigh. "Oh, very well. Bitsy is being more polite to Little Master's Mudjutant."

"I shall be apparating Mr. Malfoy and Miss Weasley," Snape said. "Elf, I trust you can do the same for Miss Lovegood."

"Be sure to tell me everything when you get back!" Hermione cried. Suddenly she looked as if she wanted to go, too.

Snape directed Draco and Ginevra to grab onto his arms, and they vanished instantly.

Luna nodded a curt farewell and took Bitsy's hand, but the little terror did not apparate right away. Instead she looked up at Hermione with an unreadable expression.

"Little Master is being right," she said after a moment. "Bitsy is being rude to the Mudjutant. Bad elf, _bad_ elf. Bitsy must be making it up to her!"

Hermione smiled politely. Though she had met only two house-elves in her life, both Draco's, she found that she liked them too much to be angry with them. They seemed to have a rather difficult lot in life. "It ... it's quite all right, Miss Bitsy. I'm used to it by now."

Bitsy's eyes sparkled at being called "miss," and she shook her head fiercely. "No, no, bad and crazy house-elf must be making amends! Little Master's Mudjutant is to be holding on tight."

Before either girl could stop her, she seized Hermione's arm with her other hand. The trees around them seemed to warp and twist as Bitsy's powerful magic pulled them away from the Forest. They felt like they were squeezing through an electrified tunnel at high speeds; powerful forces pulled at their bodies; then the house-elf's blurry form solidified and they landed sprawling on top of Snape, Draco, and Ginevra.

"Hello, Hermione," Draco said calmly, his face inches away from hers. She was lying across his chest. He smelled of very expensive soap and some spice that she couldn't quite place.

"Hi," she squeaked nervously.

"What are you doing here, Hermione?" Draco said in the same voice.

"Again, again! Wheeee! Dizzy Bitsy!" his house-elf crowed happily, though she was lying upside down against a nearby hedge.

Draco's grey eyes flicked over to her, then back to his adjutant. "I see."

"Please don't blame her. I tried to stop her, but she was quite ... "

"Yes. Quite. Would you kindly get off me?"

Luna had risen first and hauled Hermione to her feet, none too gently. Ginevra was kneeling nearby, having just thrown up in the grass after being apparated; Snape was performing a cleaning charm to get rid of the mess.

"Sorry about that, Draco," she said hoarsely.

"Think nothing of it. That's what _Scourgify_ is for."

Snape appeared just a tad embarrassed. "The fault was mine, Miss Weasley. Mr. Malfoy is far more used to this than you are, and where apparition is concerned, house-elves are known to display a most delicate touch. A touch that I admittedly lack."

Ginevra turned his words over in her mind a few times before she realised he was _apologising,_ or coming as close to it as he ever did. "It's quite all right, Professor. I wasn't all that fond of today's breakfast anyway."

The other children laughed, and one by one they found their feet and brushed off their clothes. They stood on a large and manicured lawn, gone brown and dead from the cold but still a grand sight. It was bordered by yew hedges, upon which several albino peacocks leisurely strutted and let out the occasional cajoling call. Draco smiled and gave an answering call, and one of the peacocks spread its tail feathers in a dazzling white halo. The girls watched in awe, especially Luna; then Draco gestured grandly beyond the hedges where endless acres of rolling hills surrounded them. Thousands of pale and bushy trees, shrouded in mist, seemed to protect and insulate them from the world beyond. Even the sun was an unwelcome guest here, obstructed by rolling banks of clouds and towering branches.

It was a place unlike any they had ever dreamed of. Snape left them to it, muttering something about going to find Draco's parents; Bitsy said something about preparing lunch. None of the girls really noticed them leaving. Luna gazed out at the woods with longing, no doubt wishing she could rush off and begin looking for magical creatures. Ginevra wanted to jump on a broom and see everything from the air. Hermione's head spun as she struggled with the sheer vastness of the Malfoys' property.

"It's so beautiful, Malfoy," she whispered.

Draco inclined his head graciously, looking happier and more relaxed than they had ever seen him. "Thank you. We think so, too. Every time I leave here, I miss it even more."

"Your family owns all of this," Ginevra said in numb disbelief. _"All_ of it."

"How?" Luna asked rapturously. She stood on her toes and reached up with both arms, as though trying to embrace the extraordinary scene.

"Not overnight," said a voice much like Draco's but deeper, as refined and cultured as the world it inhabited. "Nor by accident, I do assure you."

Lucius Malfoy stood beside them. He was impeccably attired as always, hands clasped upon the head of his cane, dapper aquiline features lightened by a proud smile.

"What lies before you is the culmination of a thousand years of ruthless ambition. A millennium of greed, enterprise, shrewd bargaining, and carefully chosen battles have won us this land. A year of irresponsibility and foolishness could lose much of it."

"The Malfoys bear a great burden," Draco added softly. "As father has told me many times, these forests and lawns are the least of what we must tend to. We have a legacy. A position in society that can't simply be passed down. Every generation has to fight for it in their turn, and every generation has to win. I'll have to win it myself, sometime."

" ... I do hope you'll excuse them, darlings," said a third voice, cool and feminine. A demure, upright woman with golden blonde hair and hooded blue eyes stepped up beside her husband and lay a hand on her son's shoulder. "They'll go on like this all day long if you let them. Now, then ... shall we go inside?"

Narcissa gestured behind them, and the girls all turned and beheld an enormous white mansion nestled between massive stands of trees and extensive gardens. It was so strong and solid-looking that it resembled a fortress, an impression reinforced by the pointed turrets and small windows that seemed to peer out at them like dozens of dark, wary eyes.

Steadily, with the Malfoys leading the way, they took their first steps into a very different world.


	16. The One Where It All Hits the Fan

_A/N: As Samuel L. Jackson said in Jurassic Park, "hold on to your butts." Cover-ups will be exposed, powerful people will be challenged, and our protagonists will get on the same page ... but that could be a good thing or a bad thing._

 _Keep an eye out for a reference to a short but sweet fic, 'Armando Dippet and the Two Brain Cells to Rub Together', by_ Right What is Wrong. _This story explains, better than any other, why the former Headmaster had to be either frightened out of his wits or hopelessly senile to believe one word of Tom Riddle's story about Hagrid and the CoS, and it made me furious that the boy wasn't caught and prosecuted in 1943. Writing Hermione's reaction was pretty cathartic for me._

 _Also I had to unscramble the letters of Tom Riddle's name into a bunch of different words. I hope I got it right, because it was much tougher than I thought it would be. I must have dreamed of letters that night._

* * *

ReadingnerdOtaku: _I like what Ginevra is becoming, even though she scares me a little too. In a way I think she's darker than either Draco or Luna, and she's not even a Slytherin._ Resonance and d's _DarkGinny ficlet 'Power Games' was a big inspiration there. I also want to see where Draco and Luna's friendship goes, because I haven't decided myself yet. xD_

Guest#14/Philkins27 (ch.15): _I did see the second movie but I remember almost nothing about it, so I'm mostly going off of the book. But thank you! I think Dumbledore was getting away with legilimency for a long time to keep track of everything that was going on around the school, but now he's starting to lose his touch and people are noticing. I see great things ahead for the trio and I'm having a good time taking Hermione down a different path. Some things that happened to her in canon didn't make a whole lot of sense to me, especially becoming Minister for Magic ... I can see her becoming many things but not a politician._

ghostcrab311: _Wow! Thank you so much. What I tried to do was look inside of Draco and see what was holding him back. It came down to fear, blind prejudice, obsession with Potter, and lacking a sense of self. In canon he ended up on Voldemort's side before he had any real choice in the matter, and it broke my heart to see that. But some of us are lucky enough to meet that one person who helps turn everything around, and for him that person is Luna._

Qinlongfei: _Draco has already sown some doubt in Ginevra's mind about the diary and Tom's intentions, and that will be a factor in how this chapter plays out. I like that Harry doesn't really want or enjoy the admiration of his fellow students, but is still upset when he feels it slipping away. You were right about Ron needing a sympathetic moment. Frye and his friends might have to publish in_ The Quibbler _for a short time or a long time depending on how the investigation into Dumbledore goes. Some of the information you gave me came in very handy in this chapter, as you will find out shortly. ;)_

Asviloka: _I'm glad you enjoyed the Sorting Hat's song! Apparently it knew about Ginevra's diary too. We may not have seen the last of the Hat in this story._

* * *

 **Chapter XVI: The One Where It All Hits the Fan**

What exactly could be said about Malfoy Manor? It was among the largest and most opulent homes in Great Britain, magical or otherwise. It boasted dozens of rooms, stunning architecture, beautiful sculptures and paintings in the halls, a solarium that Neville Longbottom could have died in happily, and two libraries with thousands of books. The elegant interior was wreathed in shadows and some rooms were nearly pitch black, but the children never once felt scared. They felt protected, concealed from anything that might do them harm.

Ginevra fell in love with it the moment she crossed the threshold. Was she the only one who could almost hear the darkness whispering to her? Promising to share its power, its knowledge? Draco was casual and smug, clearly enjoying himself as he showed off his house. Luna skipped along as usual—and Ginevra couldn't describe how strange it was to see someone _skipping_ through Malfoy Manor—looking out of every window they passed as if she longed to explore the gardens and the woods. And Granger was completely bowled over, asking a dozen questions that Ginevra quickly tuned out. But she could feel the potency of Mr. Malfoy's wards, hear the echoes of long expired lives and countless dark arts that had been practised here. It was the very same feeling that kept her coming back to Tom Riddle's diary, and though her stomach was now full of Dobby's delicious chicken marsala, her mind hungered for the answers this place seemed to promise her. So she followed close behind Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy as they led the way into the greater of their two libraries. Snape had to prepare some ingredients back at Hogwarts and did not stay for lunch, but his hushed conversation with the Malfoys before he left told Ginevra the three of them were good friends who trusted each other, at least as much as any Slytherins could.

She heard Hermione's breath catch in her throat as they entered the cavernous room.

"Draco told me you would very much enjoy this," Lucius told her in a wry voice, waving a lazy hand at the the rows of wooden shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling. "I would have prepared a selection of titles for you, Miss Granger, but as we were not expecting you today, I hadn't yet gotten around to it."

The muggleborn was so excited she nearly vibrated. "Oh, that's quite all right, sir! And I do apologise again for that, it was ever so rude of me to drop in uninvited even though I didn't mean to, but I do know how to find my way around a library, even one as ... as _extraordinary_ as this! Oh, it's even grander than your son said it would be, so grand I don't even know where to begin; what was it you wanted me to research again? Your family? Pure-blood history? Legilimency? I really should decide first—I could spend weeks in here—"

Lucius blinked and attempted to ford the onrushing river of words. "Of that I have no doubt, Miss Granger, but I recommend you begin by studying the first time the Chamber of Secrets was opened in the 1940s. I think you will find it most illuminating."

"Yes, sir!" the girl squeaked, and burrowed into the shelves like a mole into fresh soil.

"She certainly doesn't lack for enthusiasm," Narcissa said to Draco.

He shook his head and smiled proudly. "She's a bit much sometimes, but I've never seen anyone work harder. She can do great things for us, don't you think so, Luna?"

Luna shifted her shoulders before answering. "Yes. She is very useful, Lady Malfoy."

Ginevra watched her in silence. Apparently her friend still didn't like Hermione Granger very much; first impressions counted for a lot, and Granger made a poor one when Ginevra introduced them on the Hogwarts Express in September. She'd seen Luna holding _The Quibbler,_ not knowing her father was the editor-in-chief, and started in about what a load of rubbish it was. It all went downhill from there. Insults to her father's work were one of very few offenses Luna did not forget, or forgive. Ginevra herself had regarded Hermione with suspicion and jealousy for being so close to Harry Potter; that was supposed to be her place! But her resentment evaporated quickly enough when she was sorted into Hermione's house and found out how good-natured and helpful she was.

When the Hat finally _did_ sort her. It seemed to take forever, and they had a very strange conversation; it didn't say she shouldn't be a Gryffindor, but it kept trying to steer the conversation towards her "great ambitions" and how she was "unconstrained by rules." She supposed that was accurate, even more so now than at the start of term, but true to her relentless nature she had argued with it until it sent her where she wanted. The only scary moment came when the Hat made a passing remark about "the friend you keep in your pocket." Ginevra couldn't get the thing off her head fast enough.

Tom had gone to Hogwarts, long ago. If the Hat sensed him in her mind, it might have recognised him. And if the Hat knew about Tom, it might have told Dumbledore. And if Dumbledore knew, but wasn't doing anything about it, then surely the diary was no danger to her ... or that was how she used to see it, anyway. But after Draco's suggestion several days ago she wasn't so sure.

Her curiosity was eating her up. And now she had access to a wizard who was neither a teacher nor a parent but a knowledgeable family friend, in a place where she felt completely safe, illogical as that might be. She would never have a better opportunity than this.

"Mr. Malfoy," she asked within earshot of the others. "You were a Slytherin. Did you ever hear of a student named Tom Riddle?"

His casual and slightly bored expression did not change, but Narcissa nearly dropped the snifter of brandy she was holding.

Lucius frowned at his wife before turning back to Ginevra. "Where did you hear that name?"

"Just around Hogwarts," she said vaguely.

"I see." Lucius' hand shifted around the head of his cane and Ginevra saw marks in his flesh where the teeth of the serpent's head had poked into him. Why had he been gripping it so hard? "Tom Marvolo Riddle was a decorated and widely respected Slytherin student. Head Boy in his time, if I remember correctly. There are awards in the trophy room which still bear his name. He died some time ago, unfortunately."

"That's too bad," Ginevra said, her eyes widening. The real Tom, dead! Then the memory of his younger self in that book really was all that remained of him. It should be placed in a museum or something. But then, Tom had made her promise to keep quiet. "Did you ever meet him?"

Lucius still looked noncommittal, but he paused just a little too long. "Yes. But I was a very young man at the time, and I fear most of the details have slipped my mind. I recall him as a courteous and driven individual, though. He applied for a teaching position at Hogwarts when I was a student. He was denied, and after that the name Tom Riddle was seldom heard anymore."

She looked at Narcissa. The woman was turning to read through a random book, but not quickly enough to hide her ashen face. "If he was so nice, then why are people afraid of him?"

"I did not say he was nice, Miss Weasley," said Lucius.

"He certainly wasn't!" Hermione announced as she practically sprang from the shelves. She was holding a book open in front of her, and whatever she had to show them, it had her so upset that she'd gone red in the face. "Tom Riddle was a dirty, rotten _snitch_ who got Hagrid expelled from Hogwarts!"

Lucius and Narcissa slowly relaxed as the children gathered around the book, entitled _Hogwarts: An Unauthorised History,_ by Solomon Roper.

"He accused Hagrid of opening the Chamber of Secrets and setting an acromantula loose. But that's ridiculous!"

"You have to admit, he is the sort who would've kept a monster," Draco started. "Remember the dragon incident?"

Hermione shook her head, sending bushy hair flying everywhere, and pointed farther down the page. Ginevra had never seen her so angry. "I remember the dragon incident _quite_ well, thank you! I don't mean that. I mean that Slytherin's monster isn't an acromantula and they should have known it! It says here that a student died shortly before the spider was discovered, but an autopsy showed no evidence of foul play. If she was killed by a giant spider, where was the blood? Where was the venom? Where were the bite marks? What could the Ministry have been _thinking?_ What was Armando Dippet thinking? Did the man have _two brain cells_ to rub together?!"

"There are conflicting accounts on that, Miss Granger," Lucius replied with a smirk. "I would add that if the legend is true, Slytherin left his monster in the Chamber about a thousand years ago, while anyone who paid attention in their first year of Magical Creatures class knows the acromantula was not discovered until 1794."

"That poor girl died without a mark on her body because the basilisk looked in her eyes," Hermione concluded, her own eyes blazing like chocolate flambé. "In the second-floor bathroom, where we saw that puddle of water! And the Ministry never even reported it to the public! They just covered it all up, and they got away with it because she was muggleborn and had nobody in the magical world to stand up for her. And I can guess what her name was. _Myrtle."_

Ginevra's jaw dropped. "As in Moaning Myrtle?!"

"So that is how she died, then," Luna said, calm as ever.

Draco nodded. "She was Sister's first victim."

Narcissa shifted uncomfortably. "Draco, must you refer to it by a pet name?"

Draco was tempted to throw the question back at her, but then he realised this was the first time his mother hadn't called him embarrassing names like "dear heart" or "my little lord" or worst of all, "little Drakie" in front of his friends. "I told you, mother, she saved me from Selwyn. That alone proves she's not a mindless beast. And it proves the dreams are real. Why would she help me otherwise?"

"Fine, so Tom Riddle snitched on Hagrid because he thought the spider killed Myrtle. That's pretty bad, but it could have been just a mistake, right?" Ginevra said uneasily. She really liked Hagrid. She didn't want to believe he'd been expelled and stuck in a menial job the rest of his life because of Tom.

"Only if Tom Riddle never took a Care of Magical Creatures class," Hermione muttered. "If he had, then he should have ruled out Hagrid's spider entirely."

"But maybe he went to this Dippet person and told him he found the spider, and Dippet just assumed ... "

Draco shook his head. "It says here that Riddle specifically accused him and his monster of causing the girl's death. If he was such a great student he would have known better. I hate to say it, but that bumbling oaf was framed."

"But why would Tom do that?!" Ginevra protested.

Hermione gave her a strange look. "Honestly, Ginevra, you sound as if he were your best friend or something. I don't like to speak ill of the dead, mind you, but something terrible happened here and he was at least partly responsible."

She took a deep breath, reading the rest of the page through her tears. No matter how she squinted, those awful words wouldn't go away.

Tom Riddle had ruined Hagrid's life. Sweet, good-humoured Hagrid who wouldn't hurt a fly had been thrown out of school and forbidden to use magic ever again. Keeping a giant spider in the first place was terribly dangerous; if nothing else he was responsible for that, and should have been punished. But virtually banished from normal magical society? No. The Ministry had thrown the book at him because they suspected him of a murder case they couldn't prove, and that _was_ Tom's fault. There was no way around it.

 _Suppose this bloke wasn't what he seemed. Suppose he was planning to gain your trust and then betray you._

Well, he certainly betrayed Hagrid, didn't he? And if he had done it to Hagrid, then he might do the same to her. She wanted to be loyal to Tom, but not to the point of self-sacrifice. Forget that. Ginevra had her own plans.

"It is a good question," Draco said nervously. "Why _would_ Riddle frame Hagrid, unless ... "

"Unless he had something to do with that muggleborn's death," Luna finished. Hermione actually felt a chill, listening to her. After everything they'd learned today, didn't this girl _feel_ anything? She could have been discussing the weather.

"No." The word slipped out under Ginevra's breath before she could stop it, and everyone was looking at her now. She could feel herself trembling.

"Dear," Narcissa said to her gently. Lucius shot her an alarmed look but she shook her head, unwilling to keep silent any longer. "You would not have asked us about Tom Riddle without a good reason. Perhaps you should tell us everything _you_ know about him. Then we will tell you what we know, and we'll all decide what to do next."

* * *

A short time later, Ginevra lay upon a fainting couch in the Malfoys' drawing room. She hadn't actually fainted; if anyone in the room seemed on the verge of collapse it was Mr. Malfoy.

With everyone waiting expectantly and Luna sitting beside her, she had managed to force the story out. Not all of it of course, but they had the general idea. At some point over the summer she looked in one of her textbooks and found an old diary bearing the name "T.M. Riddle" on the inside cover. She had never written down her own thoughts before, but suddenly found herself very compelled to do so. Then the diary started writing back, and it had been something very important to her until last month when some rotten person stole it from her in the hospital wing.

Truthfully the plain facts didn't seem all that interesting to her; most of her interest in the diary concerned her friendship with Tom and how he made her feel. But they certainly interested Lucius. He sat rigidly at attention in the ornately carved wood chair across from her, sometimes closing his eyes as he gripped his cane with both hands with the occasional nod to encourage her to go on. There were moments when the dark wizard's distress was downright obvious, particularly when she talked about Tom becoming her best friend and how he was something of her very own; the kind of secret she never had, giving her the kind of _attention_ she never had from her parents, who had six other children to look after. He looked down then and massaged his forehead as if he were in pain. If this was supposed to be some kind of shrink routine, Ginevra thought, then he was doing it wrong.

She had some time to look about her as she recited the latest details. This must be the most sumptuously decorated room in the Manor, and that was saying a great deal. A table almost as long as the one in the Hogwarts kitchens, and much fancier, stood in the centre. That must be where the Malfoys hosted banquets and balls or discussed business with their fellow socialites. The ceiling was thirty feet high at least, boasting two crystal chandeliers; the drapes had been pulled open to make the room a bit more welcoming for the children, and weak afternoon sunlight shone through the prisms, allowing all the colours of the rainbow to drift and dance along the marble floor. Also made of marble was the huge fireplace and mantelpiece at one end of the room, upon which an enormous mirror rested.

Could any of this be real? Just three months ago she'd been packing her few belongings in a ramshackle house in a poor rural village. She'd spent the early years of her life there with parents who told her that being a pure-blood meant nothing special, that it was merely a name; yet here was tangible evidence to the contrary. She couldn't help savouring her first taste of what this heritage could mean for her, and she wanted more. She wanted a lot more.

"And that's everything, really," she said after explaining how the diary vanished. Naturally she had not mentioned her friendship with the Baron, the Marauder's Map, or the mysterious connection she now had with both Luna and Draco; a girl must have some secrets after all. "Mr. Malfoy ... are you all right?"

"I am more concerned about you at the moment, young lady," he said.

As she watched uncertainly, he stood up from his chair and made an unseen adjustment with his cane. The serpent's head detached, as she had seen once before, and became the handle of his wand as he pulled it free. For a bizarre moment she thought he might attack her; instead he levitated his chair closer to the couch and sat down just a few feet away from her.

"What you must understand about dark magic," Lucius explained as he made a show of re-inserting the wand into the walking-stick, "is that appearances are deceiving. It allows the victim to sense, to feel only what you want them to feel when in reality it is bending them to your will. This is the basic principle behind one of the Unforgivable Curses, though I'll not be telling you which one, as well as many potions."

"Bewitching the mind and ensnaring the senses," Hermione said to herself, but everyone overheard.

"Who said that, Miss Granger?"

"Professor Snape, sir."

Lucius nodded. "Just so. You see, Miss Weasley ... "

Ginevra felt an annoyed twinge at being addressed the same way as Granger, who was more or less Draco's retainer and hadn't even been invited. "Please call me Ginevra."

Again he balked, but clearly the man was about to drop a bombshell on her, and perhaps he thought granting her request would soften the blow. "What I am driving at, Ginevra, is that this diary was not at all what it seemed. Your exhaustion while using it, feeling like you were not yourself, the irresistible urge to succumb to it ... what you are describing is the experience of someone afflicted by dark magic. And as I'm sure your family has told you, my experience in that field is not slight."

"Then Draco was right!" she exclaimed.

Lucius glanced at Draco, looking for a clue as to how much he had told her.

"Ginevra mentioned to me a few days ago that she had lost a friend. I told her that we don't always know, right away, who our real friends are," the boy said, looking his father confidently in the eye. He liked Ginevra, but he wouldn't betray their secrets to her and he wanted the man to know it.

Lucius nodded with a faint smile. "Indeed? Then my son's words were prophetic, Ginevra, for he was not the only one with a dangerous friend. Though I do not know the precise nature of the magic Riddle imbued his diary with, my guess is that it compels the writer to confide their deepest secrets and strongest feelings, and in that way, it feeds on their energy."

"He ... he said he loved me. He said I made him 'feel alive' again." She wanted to cry. But she couldn't, not here. Little by little she swallowed it back down, until she trusted herself to speak again. "Why did Tom do this to me?"

"As a young man, he was always fascinated with the legend of the Chamber of Secrets. Ridding Hogwarts of all muggleborn students became an obsession for him. We believe it was he who discovered the entrance and released the basilisk. When a student was finally killed, he must have feared discovery by the faculty and the Ministry, so he sealed the Chamber and framed Rubeus Hagrid for his crimes."

"Merlin," Draco said with a mix of horror and admiration. "That's what the diary is for! He wanted someone else to finish what he started!"

"Quite. It is said that only one who speaks parseltongue, the ancient language of snakes, may open the Chamber of Secrets. And though Riddle no longer has a tongue to speak with ... "

"I do," Ginevra said in a small voice.

"You, and whoever has the book now. That is our most pressing problem. I believe that someone else at Hogwarts knew of the diary as well as its purpose, and decided that things were not proceeding quickly enough with you as its owner. So they decided to take it for themselves. We must find out who this person is, bring them to justice, close the Chamber once and for all, and ... "

There was an unnatural pause in his speech, as though he had to gather his strength and force out the following words.

" ... Destroy the diary. No student at Hogwarts is safe while that book remains intact. Unfortunately, the situation there is growing rather volatile. I understand the Headmaster is due for a visit from the head of the DMLE, Madam Amelia Bones, tomorrow afternoon. Although the Board of Governors are not privy to nearly as many details as I would like, I understand he is very much on the defensive, a position he loathes. If we were to simply bring this information before him, it would represent a political opportunity he could not resist. There is no doubt in my mind that he will take the credit for himself and pin the entire mess on the Slytherins. My son in particular."

"So that people will like him again and he can keep his job?" Ginevra said, squinting.

"How quickly you cut to the heart of things, child."

"But that's criminal!" Hermione protested. "Professor Dumbledore would never do something like that!"

Draco quickly and fiercely brought her in line. "You would have said the same thing about the legilimency too, Hermione, until we saw him do it! There's no one more biassed against my house than he is. You won't breathe a word of what you've heard here to Dumbledore or anybody else. "

Ginevra sided with Draco. "Whoever is behind this, we've completely spoiled their plans and kept Sister from hurting anyone without a bit of help from Dumbledore! Besides, my parents would throw a fit if they had any idea what I've been up to lately. I won't have them finding out I visited Malfoy Manor."

Hermione looked forlorn, but she nodded her agreement without another word.

"Then it's settled," Draco announced. "The moment we find the diary, we will secure it and tell my father. He'll know what to do next."

Lucius and Narcissa breathed a mental sigh of relief. They had revealed the necessary facts about Tom Riddle and his cursed diary, all without revealing his true identity or their own involvement. It was almost too good to be true.

Luna had an odd little smile on her face as they said their farewells and Dobby escorted the children out of the drawing room. Instead of leaving, Luna turned about at the doorway and produced the scrap of parchment she was doodling on before. The grownups leaned closer to read it.

And recoiled with undisguised horror.

 **TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE**

 **DRAT, LORD, I LOVE MOM**

 **DID MOOR LOT MARVEL?**

 **MOTOR, LAD, MID-DOVER!**

 **I AM LORD VOLDEMORT**

"One of the first things daddy taught me was how to play around with letters," she said. "Quite a surprise, that last one."

"An amusing coincidence, Luna," Lucius said in a bored tone, but he had the look of a man who had just been hit with a fish. Narcissa had gone rather trembly and was clutching at his arm.

Luna tilted her head. The corners of her mouth twitched with that smile that always meant trouble. "I do not think I ought to show this paper to Draco. Nor would it be good for Ginevra to see it, or Granger, or my father. I am sure it is a 'coincidence', as you say ... but it might give them the wrong idea about what we are up against and whose side you might be on. And we certainly can't have that."

Narcissa cleared her throat, still staring at the words. "No. We certainly can't."

She tentatively reached out to take the paper. Luna moved her hand away.

"On the other hand a thing like this, though it means nothing, is quite troubling. I feel that I _should_ tell them. But knowing how it worries you ... you may have a week to persuade me otherwise. I will be waiting for your letter."

She tucked the paper into her gown and skipped merrily towards the elegantly carved doors. Then, she turned and said one last thing before leaving.

"You do understand, Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, that if You-Know-Who is still with us in any form, then as surely as the umgubular slashkilter is drawn out by the new moon, he will come after your son. Draco is my dearest friend. I believe in what he is doing for Slytherin, and I shall knock down anyone who stands in his way. I trust that you will do the same."

Humming a song she had just made up in her head, she slipped through the doors and was gone.

Outmaneuvered by the daughter of a lunatic who thought Minister Fudge ate goblin livers for breakfast. This, lord and lady reflected, was not their finest moment.

"Well," Narcissa said after a moment. "We're crossing the Rubicon now, aren't we?"

"Quite. Fancy a drink, dear?"

 _"Drinks,_ Lucius. Plural."

* * *

"Hermione," Draco said grandly, "you may begin."

The girl composed herself as best she could, though it was proving difficult with a large room full of Slytherins staring at her. "Of course, Lord Malfoy."

Even this formality set off furious whispers that sounded like bacon sizzling in a pan. She took a seat at a small round table at the far end of their gathering place, a lone glimmer of gold in the snake pit—next to Ginevra Weasley, that is. Not that Ginevra didn't trust Draco and Luna, but she had insisted on being there for peace of mind, and her "lord" had granted that request.

The idea hardly bothered her anymore, really. All she had to do was think rapturously back to the library—oh, that _library!_ —and any lingering doubts she had were extinguished. All muggleborns had to start somewhere; she knew that now. She may be an adjutant, but she was the luckiest one in the world!

Leading a Weasley into the darkly beautiful Slytherin common room created some tension, even though Ginevra was recognised as a friend to the snakes. But when Hermione filed in between her and prefect Gemma Farley, the silence became deafening. She wasn't as skilled at reading people as she was at reading books, to be sure. Daphne Greengrass and a boy who used to play Quidditch for them—what was his name, Biggs?—they were smiling nervously at her, but everyone else looked blank, and with children so skilled at hiding their true feelings it was impossible to tell friend from foe. She couldn't say where the resentment was coming from, only that it was there, prickling at every inch of her skin and jabbing between her shoulders every time she turned her back.

Thank Merlin, then, for Pansy Parkinson. The cruel, haughty witch was one of the last people Hermione expected to support Draco in this. Her eyes were a sickly and venomous shade of hazel, shiny as polished glass with even less warmth. Every time they fell upon her she could feel herself wilt. Pansy had never expressed the slightest bit of tolerance or sympathy for muggleborns, yet she was waiting for them in the corridor when they arrived, determined that they should not face this momentous occasion alone. She had with her a small Asian girl who was introduced as her first adjutant, Haruka Endoh from Sennan, Japan, or "Sen" as Pansy called her; a third-year with dark gimlet eyes that watched everything and hair so black it looked almost blue, falling over her shoulder in a thick braid. Hermione attempted to strike up a polite conversation with her, but unlike most Hufflepuffs she was unflappably serious and economical with her words. Her parents emigrated to Whitechapel from Osaka for reasons that weren't clear; to further inquiries from Ginevra she responded "I'm not paid to make small talk" and left it at that. She was able to relax in Pansy's company like very few non-Slytherins and took direction well.

That their entrance was so well organised must be the only reason some Slytherins weren't protesting this or at least trying to block their path; that and the fact that they were flanked by all the Slytherin prefects ... minus Selwyn, thank goodness. She and Sen simply took their seats by the wall and began to itemise Draco's and Pansy's allowances while everyone stared at them. At first Hermione's fingers obeyed her only reluctantly, and she fumbled to get out some parchment and place it next to the notes and receipts Draco gave her. But seeing Sen's remarkable concentration in the face of all those death glares, she gathered her own strength and forged ahead.

She had thought the request absurd: itemising a twelve-year-old's expenses? That was before she found out just how much Draco's monthly allowance was. Her own parents' distrust of this world extended to every facet of her education. They were generous enough when she was home with them or on vacation in France, like last summer. But when magic was involved, or she went back to Hogwarts, they immediately tightened the purse strings. Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had no such reservations with their son. Draco likely "earned" more galleons in a year than some low-level Ministry officials, perhaps even Arthur Weasley; Hermione nearly snickered at the thought. Then, ashamed of herself for thinking of Ginevra's father that way, she focused again on her task.

It was simply a matter of balancing Draco's November allowance with all of his expenses in the past month. Not surprisingly, he had no spare cash left at all. He'd spent freely and impulsively on her employment, new supplies, Honeydukes deliveries, a stipend to Xeno Lovegood to defray printing expenses for the _Scrawl_ (though that would no longer be an issue), a handful of loans to less fortunate half-blood Slytherins who needed to buy new cauldrons after a potions class mishap or get their sweethearts something nice in Hogsmeade, and much more. Hermione suspected she would have to act as his loan officer in the near future. Although she would never admit it, the idea of putting the squeeze on borrowers who'd been mean to her in the past was actually rather appealing.

She'd almost forgotten about all the kids gawking at her by the time she and Sen were finished. Judging from Pansy's pleased expression, she must have more money left over than Draco, who acknowledged her results with a scowl.

"Didn't know I was throwing that many galleons around," he muttered.

"I don't mind waiting 'til December for my fee," she said lightly. "As long as it's a one-time thing, of course."

"I ... appreciate that," he said grudgingly. "Good work."

"Thank you."

Draco nodded to Pansy. The smirking brunette turned to the crowd. "There. Was that so hard, letting in a few muggleborns to attend our family business? None of you has exploded, caught a deadly disease, or been cursed."

"Quite true," Draco announced. "We reserve those honours for people who get in our way ... another thing you should keep in mind. I believe that will be all for tonight. Our adjutants' work is completed. Well done, girls. Gemma, if you'd be so kind as to escort them out ... "

The prefect nodded, and Hermione and Sen left the common room with Ginevra at their side. The crowd dispersed, some muttering "good riddance" or something similar, others just thinking.

Pansy grinned. "This wasn't such a bad idea after all, Malfoy. Now we've broken the ice, and we know how much money we've got left over. Or how little, in your case."

"Ha ha," he said flatly. "How did you get your hooks into that bird so quickly? It took me weeks to wear down Hermione."

"Don't feel too bad. Apparently Sen's people have a system that's rather similar. 'Family vassals' or something like that. She had a better idea what she was getting into. And she wants as little to do with the muggle world as possible, so I think we're well-matched. Let me know if they give you any trouble, and I'll do the same."

"Right. Good night then, Pansy, and thanks for your support."

"Anything for my dear husband," she teased him, and sauntered off to her dorm.

Draco had not seen Theodore in the common room while the adjutants were present. He did get the opportunity to chat with his old friend afterwards, but not in the way he intended. Only when he was passing by the second-year dorm did the squirrelly boy take him by the elbow and pull him inside. The room was empty but for the two of them. Blaise's bed was the neatest of them all, while Frye's belongings were scattered about everywhere.

Theodore was not angry, but stricken. He had the look of a boy stuck in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. "Have you any notion what you and Pansy did tonight, Malfoy?"

"We've allowed our adjutants to visit us on business," Draco replied, the picture of composure.

"You've just put a target on all our chests, is what you've done!" Theodore burst out. "It's bad enough you're gallivanting about with her kind, now you've got to make it our problem as well? Desecrate our common room with the likes of her? What's happened to you, anyway?! We used to be mates. Have you forgotten everything my father taught us? About the right sort to hang out with, about the Dark Lord? He's coming back, Malfoy! I know he is. Do you have any idea what he's going to do to you when he finds out what you've been up to? What could happen to _us_ if he thought we had anything to do with it?!"

Draco realised Theodore wasn't just angry; he was scared. His shaking hands and bloodshot eyes suggested he hadn't been sleeping well. Draco felt a stab of fear himself at the thought of You-Know-Who actually coming back.

"If he doesn't kill you right out, he'll torture you enough to make you wish he had," Theodore grabbed Draco's arms. "And there are already other kids around here with the same idea. Richard was just the beginning! I don't want that to happen to you. You've got to stop this madness before it's too late!"

"Even if he is still out there, Theodore, I'm not going to spend every day looking over my shoulder. What kind of a life is that? If he has a problem with me having two friends who don't mind about purity and one muggleborn associate, that's too bad. If he tries to take it out on you, then I'll protect you, simple as that. It is one of my obligations as a Malfoy; Salazar knows how many times I've heard that lecture. Anyway, I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."

"You'll cross right over to the afterlife is what you'll do! He's unstoppable, Malfoy! No one can stand against him!"

"Potter did and he was barely a year old."

"Because Potter's a mis-sorted dark wizard himself, you fool! He speaks parseltongue; what more do you need?!"

"Fine. If they're both power-hungry dark wizards, then we'll pit them against each other and finish off whoever wins," Draco said flippantly. It was a retort he had used on his father more than once, and received a silencing hex for his cheek. "That's probably what Dumbledore's planning to do anyway."

Theodore's jaw dropped. He stepped back and stared at Draco for a moment.

"You really think that'll work?"

"With how the old man's got Potter walking around on a leash and begging for treats, I don't see why not. Besides, Theodore, why did your father follow the Dark Lord in his day? Because he was a really swell bloke? Of course not. Because he was afraid of him."

"Everybody was afraid of him," Theodore conceded bitterly. "With good reason. And they still are."

"And look what living in fear has done to Slytherin. We're nothing right now, compared to what we could be."

"What choice would we have? The Dark Lord _is_ Slytherin," Theodore said, shaking his head. He looked defeated, exhausted.

"He bloody well is not!" Draco exclaimed. "Theo, mate, listen to me. You're Slytherin! I'm Slytherin! Maybe we can't change what our parents think, but we can decide what our house stands for while we're here. I wasted my first year because I didn't get that, I wasn't thinking. We already have all the money, all the power we need to keep a lid on muggleborns. So what do we need them tortured or killed for?"

Theodore faltered. "Well ... I ... I'm not sure."

"Then stick with me and find out. You can't agree or disagree with me until you know where I'm coming from. Just like we used to say: if you're my friend, follow me 'round the bend."

"As I recall, you always said that just before pulling a nasty trick on me," the skinny boy cajoled him.

"But it was the _friendly_ kind of nasty trick. Give this a chance, Theodore. I guarantee, you won't regret it."

* * *

A visit from Amelia Bones was no wizard's idea of an enjoyable Sunday afternoon. A rather homely, square-jawed witch with short grey hair, she was both known and feared for her tenacity and objectivity. Aurors were the police detectives of wizarding Britain, often the last line of defence against dangerous criminals, and she had slowly but steadily risen through their ranks to become the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's first female head in over a century. Despite myriad attempts to bribe her or her office over the years, she went about her duties just as professionally as she had ten years ago. And twenty years ago. And thirty years ago. And forty years ago, and ... well, jokes about her age were quite common, but no one doubted her effectiveness, especially not Albus Dumbledore.

"Amelia!" he exclaimed as he welcomed her into his office like a long-lost friend. His rich gold and pastel green robes were a sharp contrast to her plain navy-blue ensemble.

As always, Bones stepped carefully out of the floo and examined her surroundings skeptically. Eccentric tastes in decor; Sorting Hat on its familiar stool in a corner; extremely off-putting pet phoenix trilling at her from the back of Dumbledore's chair; portraits of previous headmasters all over the walls, some of whom were watching them and even called her by name ... all details were closely examined through the monocle she wore on her right eye. Rumour had it that the monocle could seek out injustice and corruption wherever it was present, not unlike the "mad eye" of retired auror Alastair Moody.

"Professor Dumbledore," she greeted him coolly in a low and steady voice.

"Now, Amelia, surely you and I have no need to stand on ceremony, knowing each other as we have these many years. Please, make yourself at home. Is that a new hairstyle? It suits you well, if I may say so. I confess I thought of being a stylist myself in my younger days, but I fear I never quite had the knack ... "

"I am here to discuss certain things you _do_ have the knack for, Professor," said Bones. As usual, she had little patience for niceties. "Namely, legilimency."

Dumbledore chuckled heartily as he seated himself at his desk. "Why, Amelia! Surely a woman of your experience knows better than to buy in to silly gossip. No, we both know how this works; this month I'm a manipulative inquisitor, the next I'll be a doddering old fool. These allegations change like the weather, depending upon what the people care to believe about us next."

Bones was too courteous to point out that the Headmaster had long been suspected of being both manipulative _and_ senile. "I am familiar with the ebbs and flows of public opinion, Professor. However, as I stated in my letters, I believe these particular allegations are more serious than you realise. We have reports from reputable alumni willing to testify under oath."

"Surely you don't think it a coincidence that these alumni were Slytherin."

"Not all of them. And even if that were the case, I would still be compelled to investigate. The antagonism between yourself and that house has been mutual."

Dumbledore merely shrugged. "If you insist on making this an official visit, Amelia ... "

"There was never any doubt of that, Professor. And 'Madam Bones' will do. We are no longer on the front lines together."

"In that case, Madam Bones, I can only say that these allegations are wildly exaggerated and misunderstood, and I reserve the right to know what is going on in my own institution."

"So long as you are balancing that with your students' right to privacy." She frowned at him expectantly. "You do not deny, then, that you have attempted legilimency on students without receiving proper clearance from our office?"

"I do not. I am certain that a few simple interviews with a pensieve would reveal that much. But do you not see the irony in the Slytherins insisting on enforcing these regulations to the letter? If you recall, they adopted quite a different stance in the first few years after the War."

"Those were different times for all of us. The War is over now."

Dumbledore was polite but adamant. "I am not prepared to concede that until I have physical proof of Voldemort's demise. Until then, our only defence is vigilance and preparation."

The spotty conditions of his wards would hardly attest to that, though Bones wasn't here to address that particular issue. She was unpleasantly reminded of retired Officer Moody, whom she had to force into retirement a few years prior because he could not move beyond the War—or his unjust treatment of suspects who were former Slytherins, but Cornelius Fudge had ordered her to downplay that aspect of his conduct so as not to embarrass the department and by extension the Ministry. This was different. Unlike Moody or Bartemious Crouch Sr., who were blunt weapons wielded by the system, Albus Dumbledore was a man the entire wizarding world looked to as a moral authority. If he had become a wolf in sheep's clothing, the risks of protecting him far outweighed the consequences of exposing him.

Dumbledore seemed to know her thoughts before she could even voice them. "Minister Fudge and the Wizengamot know the truth of my words just as you do. Even in the unlikely event that these allegations result in a trial, they shall never remove me. Nor can I blame them. The preservation of the magical community depends upon my surveillance of Slytherin and my promise that so many innocent lives are never lost again. I think they will find it in their hearts to forgive my skirting a couple of house rules, don't you? Come now, Amelia. Let us have a cup of tea, perhaps a few lemon drops, and put this little disagreement to bed."

Bones had to wonder just when the man she once put so much trust in became a stranger to her. What exactly were the ramifications of his plans, that he could so casually dismiss violating the law in order to see them through?

"Just a few years ago, I had my final conversation with a man who believed vigilance and control constituted the ultimate good," the impassive woman replied. Her reference to Moody was unmistakable. "That if only we had exercised enough of each, You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters could have been foiled virtually overnight. I disagreed. What allowed the likes of him to rise to power was the fact that too many good people did nothing until it was too late, expecting someone else to take care of the problem. You-Know-Who was not our only enemy in that war. There was also the helplessness we had learned, and allowed to fester within ourselves, in thirty years of peacetime. We conquered the first enemy. Now we must see to the other. That, Professor, is what _I_ trust the Wizengamot to understand."

The old man studied her wordlessly from behind his desk.

"Besides," Bones said as she cast another handful of floo powder into the flames. "I have rather lost my taste for Darjeeling. We shall see each other again. Soon."

The fire blazed from orange to green. She stepped into its heat and was gone.

* * *

 _ **'Light-Bearers' Shine Brightly in Duelling Club**_

 _A Quibbler (not Slytherin Scrawl) Article_

 _by Terence Higgs & Frye Harper, Junior Guest Columnists of The Quibbler (again, NOT the Slytherin Scrawl)_

 _HOGWARTS_ — _Great Britain's signature institution of magic already has a successful Quidditch program that is widely attended by many students as well as their friends and family, and the new Duelling Club may be hot on its heels. In a weekly meeting where students gather in teams to practise their self-defence techniques in a safe and controlled environment, no team seems more in control than Slytherin's own Draco Malfoy (2nd year) and Luna Lovegood (1st year) with Gryffindor's Ginevra Weasley (1st year)._

 _In just its first week of existence, the triple threat notched one of the Club's most comprehensive victories over Padma Patil (Rav, 2nd year), Rebecca Belby (Huf, 1st year) and Zacharias Smith (Huf, 1st year). Their superior teamwork and timing (see pictures) has made them a subject of growing curiosity around Hogwarts._

 _"They encouraged us to cooperate with students of different houses of course," commented Quidditch chaser Adrian Pucey (Slyth, 4th year), "but two of us with a Gryffindor? No one expected that. Like Cap'n [Marcus] Flint [Slyth, 6th year] tells us in Quidditch, friendship outside the pitch can do wonders for you on game day and those three are friends all right. Never thought we'd see the day."_

 _Adding to the young trio's popularity is the fact that they were brought together by accident, thanks to a prank by the well-known twin brothers George and Fred Weasley (Gryf, 4th year) on their sister. Both have expressed remorse for the incident._

 _"Really, we were just ribbing her a little for gadding about with Slytherins," insisted Fred._

 _"We didn't mean for her to actually duel next to them! That was all Professor Snape's idea," added George._

 _"So can everyone in Gryffindor forgive us already? Please?"_

 _"We get it already, we screwed up! Now take that camera out of our faces, [Junior Quibbler Photographer Colin] Creevey!"_

 _Though all three declined to comment and do not seek publicity, they have been widely recognised and given a name, only the second Duelling Club team (after Harry Potter's Golden Trio) to be so honoured._

 _"I don't know who coined the term, but it's more than fitting," allowed Prefect Gabriel Truman (Huf, 6th year). "Malfoy's father's name means 'light' after all, and as the leader of the gang he's certainly representing the man well. Not to mention that bit they do where light comes out of their wands every so often. Not a bad gimmick. But you mark my words, Hufflepuff will redeem itself for last week. We're not duffers, and we intend to prove that at every possible opportunity."_

 _The flier for Thursday's Duelling Club meet advertises the Light-Bearers' next opponents as two of Miss Weasley's own housemates: straight-O student Hermione Granger (2nd year) and notorious trash-talker Andrew Kirke (1st year) along with fellow self-promoter Aron Woodbridge (Rav, 1st year)_ — _a matchup that should prove interesting for all the right (and wrong) reasons._

* * *

 _To the Esteemed Miss Lovegood,_

 _Hello. My wife and I do hope you are well. We are well also, though a little concerned. It is cold today, but we actually welcome the approach of winter here at Malfoy Manor; with the snowfall, its white expanses become positively breathtaking, and we grant you free reign to explore the property and observe its highly select wildlife to your heart's content when you visit us over the holidays._

 _We understand that you are also a connoisseur of pudding and sugar candy, both of which Dobby and Bitsy can work miracles with._

 _We also recall that we promised Draco his choice of any curio or antique he desired from our personal stores, or for that matter, Borgin & Burke's store on Knockturn Alley. As you were instrumental in aiding him on family business this term, we shall extend that offer to you as well._

 _We also feel that a trip to Twilfitt and Tatting's could do wonders for your horrendous wardrobe_ (these last seven words were crossed out) _help your eclectic fashion sense stand out even more._

 _As long as you, please for the love of Merlin_ (this expression also crossed out) _as you value the stability of your friendships in advancing our mutual goals, divulge to no one your utterly mistaken and inconsequential "discovery" regarding the diary's original owner._

 _How does the prospect of absolute power strike you?_ (This was violently crossed out.)

 _Ha ha. We are joking of course. I must ask my wife why we are so often down to our last sheaf of parchment with no self-correcting quill._

 _Because we sometimes fail to adequately plan ahead, Lucius. And by we, I mean you_ (in Narcissa's hand).

 _You may tell your friend Miss Weasley that, per her request, we are attempting to charm a sweet that can be tasted by ghosts. I can only speculate on what her motives are and what allies she may have around Hogwarts, living or otherwise. But these connections, as well as her ability to know the location and business of seemingly everyone, will certainly make her a useful ally. We shall not disappoint her, and we urge you to continue strengthening your bond with her. There is no telling when she will discover our role in the little matter of the diary_ (here "little matter" had been crossed out and replaced by "UTTER FIASCO" in his wife's hand) _and it is best if we are on her good side when that time comes._

 _With great fondness,_

 _Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy_

* * *

It wasn't hard to find the Baron in the Astronomy Tower. One simply needed to defy all instinct and common sense by _following,_ rather than running from, the din of his clanking chains and ghastly shrieks. Ginevra was used to it by now, but it still sent a nasty chill down her spine.

The ghost's howls became much louder as she opened the door of the storeroom.

"Hello, Baron," she said pleasantly, though she could barely hear herself. "How are y—"

He held up a translucent finger, signaling for her to wait, and continued caterwauling for a good few minutes. Finally he sighed and brushed off the front of his tunic. "Much better now, Ginevra. Thank you for asking. The children here so seldom extend us that courtesy. They do not realise spirits can have good days and bad days. They assume we are all just ... dead. But as I have told you ... "

"Everything is a matter of degree," she finished, remembering one of his earlier lessons.

"Bravo, dear girl. There are days when I feel very alive indeed, though it helps to have things to look forward to. Speaking of which ... did you pass on my request to the Malfoys?"

"I promised, didn't I?" she winked. "Between Mrs. Malfoy being so good with charms and Snape being so good with potions, I'm sure they'll come up with something."

The Baron licked his lips. "Ahh, I do hope so! That is wonderful news. You have my thanks."

"Anything for a friend. By the way, you haven't spotted the diary, have you? Sister says the Heir won't let her tell us who's using it."

The gaunt spectre shrugged. "Alas, no. It must be extremely well hidden. Whether at the bottom of some unfortunate child's trunk, or directly in plain sight, I cannot say."

They chatted a few more minutes before saying good night, and Ginevra continued on her way. Perhaps she was going about this all wrong. She had a connection to the book, didn't she? And she felt it pulling at her sometimes, right? So why not use that to her advantage? She'd been trying to get the murderous liar out of her mind, but perhaps that was working against her. If she stayed focused on him, used what remained of their connection before it faded entirely ...

Ginevra jumped back as she nearly collided with someone walking the opposite way.

"Whoa! Watch out, Ginny," giggled an older girl with strawberry-blonde hair and an aura of empty-headedness that rivalled Lavender Brown. "You nearly knocked me on my bum!"

Ginevra was tempted to do that on purpose, but she restrained herself. She'd seen this person before a few times, but couldn't recall her name. "Right. Sorry about that, Miss ... "

"Marietta. Mum wanted to call me Mari and daddy wanted to call me Etta so they compromised!" the girl said, bursting into a fit of giggles at her own bad joke. She must have been on her way back from Astronomy class, and only the third-years had that on Tuesday night. Cho Chang's friend, wasn't she? Ginevra had to wonder how such a dim pair could do so well in Ravenclaw.

"Gee, that's really interesting," she said unconvincingly. "But I have to go. See you around, Marietta."

"Wait!" The girl held out her hand and leaned closer to her as if to divulge a secret. "Did you find it yet?"

Ginevra regarded her with great suspicion. "Find what?"

"Your diary, of course! Oh, we all saw you writing in it from time to time, but not anymore, so we figured you just lost it. Or that's what Cho and all my friends think. But _I_ think ... someone _took_ it." Marietta leaned in even closer. "In fact ... I might have _seen_ someone take it."

The redhead tilted her head inquiringly, all thoughts of leaving suddenly banished. "Oh?"

"Oh yeah, totally. That night you were in the hospital wing? Dear me! Poor old Marietta was there too, after I got into a little scuffle with a friend."

"I remember. Go on!"

"Well, I woke up just a little while later ... and you'll _never_ guess who I saw swipe that diary from under your pillow!"

"Who?" she whispered.

Marietta put her lips close to her ear, whispered the name, and savoured her petrified expression as she drew back. "Oh, wow! You look just like Mrs. Norris! I mean, _really!_ Oh dear, look at the time; I've got to dash. See you later then!"

And, laughing her ditzy laugh, she tripped away down the steps, her false smile twisting into one of grim satisfaction. Oh, what a little thrill! It was ever so amusing to make people jump, make them gasp, tell them secrets that would absolutely rip them in two. It was like a little Christmas morning every time it happened, especially when profits were involved.

Eagerly anticipating the jingle of more galleons in her pocket, Marietta rushed off to tell her new friend the job was done.


	17. The Man In the Glass

_A/N: Sorry this update took so long! I'm not dead, but this chapter was a toughie. When you enter the last third of a long story, it's a matter of survival and being able to push yourself the rest of the way. At least it is for me. And because of that, your support means more than ever now, so let's get to the personal messages!_

 _Draco's remark to Theodore last chapter ("if you're my friend, follow me 'round the bend") is a proverb from_ The Borribles _trilogy by Michael de Larrabeiti, a work that I eagerly recommend. His gritty prose and compelling vision of the decayed, dystopian London his protagonists inhabit have always stuck in my mind. ^^_

* * *

ghostcrab311: _The creepy thing about Marietta: she's not really an idiot. She's an honourless mercenary who simply finds it convenient to act like a ditz. And I appreciate the compliment on Hermione! At first I wasn't sure if she'd be a major character, but I see her pretty vividly when I write her so I brought her along for the ride._

Guest#15 (ch.16): _Draco's reforms are off to a good start but we'll see how things go over time. I often hear Draco compared to Harry as "The Boy Who Had No Choice." In this story he does, but there are other Slytherins who also believe they have no choice but to follow in their parents' footsteps. Draco is going to learn who his real friends are ..._

Guest#16/Philkins27 (ch.16): _I'm sorry that I must do these things to you, Philkins. I think it's because I'm evil. xD Oh, I know exactly who Selwyn gave the diary to when he stole it (and have for a long time), but I wonder if anyone's guessed right. As for Luna's dislike of Hermione, I think it also makes sense that she would feel this way over a conversation Hermione doesn't even remember. She can upset people without meaning to. Draco's efforts to get Theodore on his side are admirable; I just hope it's not all in vain._

Sunset Whispers (ch.14-16): _Welcome back! It wasn't the same without you. Besides providing comic relief, Bitsy also serves another purpose. Narcissa is a society wife, and there are some things she can't do without compromising that image or creating unnecessary conflict with her husband. Bitsy acts as an extension of her, getting away with her shenanigans because she's perceived as mad (and probably is)._

Qinlongfei: _Draco sees Theodore as a friend but sort of a cautionary example in how his father and his extreme beliefs control his thinking; "there but for the grace of Luna go I." As for Theodore, he's frustrated and scared that Draco's actions are putting everyone in a compromising position ... especially him, for reasons Draco does not yet realise. With some important expository scenes out of the way, this chapter should move a bit faster than the last!_

Guest#17 (ch.16): _I thought that was just the sort of thing Luna would write. :)_

Guest#18/London Knight (ch. 2,7): _I have changed "restroom" to "lavatory" in that scene. I'm glad you're enjoying the story. I am trying to write it somewhat in the British style (what little I know of it), so if you have any more tips or advice I would be grateful. :)_

sailorbunny055: _Thanks! I ended up adding more of my own ideas than I planned (muggle adjutants being the big one) but I think it's worked out well._

* * *

 **Chapter XVII: The Man in the Glass**

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," Ginevra Weasley hissed at the Marauder's Map. Her eyes were little more than cold blue slits as she watched it unfurl, surrendering all the secrets of Hogwarts to her. "And that I am going to punish Draco Malfoy."

It didn't take long to locate him. The Map showed that he was in the kitchen—with Luna. Ginevra swore under her breath. Well, that was too bad. Luna would just have to see what she did to him. Devoted as the girl was to that slimy prat, she would let her best friend get a shot or two in for old times' sake. And Ginevra would damn sure make them count. Marietta might be a fool but she _was_ in the hospital wing that night, and too many paths since she lost the diary had led her straight to Malfoy.

She tucked the map away and burst out of the Astronomy Tower into the fifth floor hallway. An older girl and boy snogging in the middle of the floor saw her coming, took one look at her expression and jumped out of the way.

"Oi, what's the big idea?" the bloke shouted.

"The corridor is for walking. Get a room!" she snarled at them over her shoulder, and savoured the little thrill that caressed her spine when they stared after her in shock. Oh, yes. She was going to spread more of that around tonight. No one would dare to steal from Ginevra Weasley again when she was finished. Tom Riddle had been so right. Of course he was also a traitor with Myrtle Warren's blood on his hands, and he would be the next one to pay. But his teachings had come in handy all the same ... and why did it have to feel so _good_ when she wrote to him? It was something more than friendship, what she felt when his thoughts appeared on the page; it was something deeper. Could she really bring herself to destroy someone who meant so much to her?

She cleared her mind of these worries by focusing on the Baron's advice instead. Sow the seeds. Plant the fear and watch it grow. You didn't even need a passing grade in herbology to make that happen, just a will and the courage to impose it. This might strike people as evil, but everything was a matter of degree ... darkness included. What was the darkness in her, next to the one they had to extinguish? Barely a shadow, the meanest of ghosts.

It took longer than she wanted to get to the first floor and down that narrow and rarely used passage just off the Great Hall. Her blood boiled with every step and when she threw the door open to find him sitting at the table with Luna, her wand was already in her hand.

"You are a lying thief, Draco Malfoy!" she proclaimed loudly.

There was only a moment of confusion before she saw that flicker in his eyes. He was guilty as sin and he knew it. It was all Ginevra needed.

She threw a stinging hex at him, a spell she had greatly improved on in the last few weeks. He gasped and lost his balance on the bench, nearly crashing to the floor. Luna broke his fall by gripping the front of his robe and lowering him gently, nearly falling herself as his weight pulled her stumbling away from the bench.

The young Gryffindor would have thrown another spell had Luna not stepped in front of the prone wizard. Even now she did not lose her temper, but she lifted her chin imperiously. "Lower your wand, Ginevra."

"It's all right, Luna," Draco said from the floor, his voice tight with pain. "After what I've dealt with this year, a stinger from a firstie is nothing."

 _"You_ took the diary! And it was for your father, wasn't it?!" Ginevra demanded.

Draco said nothing. He looked away from her.

"Of course! That's why he knew so much about it, why I found it in one of my books from Flourish and Blott's. He was the one who slipped it in there. You really had me fooled, you know that? Smiling in my face and pretending to be my friend when you'd already stolen from me!"

Draco pulled himself up with Luna's help, breathing hard as the pain in his chest began to fade. "I took it because I love him, Weasley! I took it because you couldn't let it go. And _Tom_ wouldn't have let you go, not 'til he was done with you. You should be thanking me!"

"If Tom was dangerous then it's your dad's fault. You Malfoys started the whole thing!"

Luna was careful to stand between the two of them. "Mr. Malfoy did not know Tom Riddle was in the book. He merely wished to embarrass your parents with it. Perhaps that sounds a bit mad, but then adults are often like that, aren't they? It was Draco and I who decided something was wrong, when we saw it writing back to you. That is why we did what we did."

Draco marvelled at her composure. Even now she was getting ahead of Ginevra, working to contain the damage and keep the girl as a friend. How did he ever get on without her?

"You knew about this, Luna?"

"Of course I knew what Draco was planning. We have no secrets. I allowed him to do this because I believed you were in danger," she said pointedly, wedging herself into a perceived opening. "I wanted to protect you, Ginevra."

"We all did," Draco added delicately. "I had no desire to see a pure-blood witch harmed because of one poor decision by my father. He and mother felt the same way. Everything we've done since then proves that. I only wish we still _had_ the blasted thing. Then the Chamber never would have been opened again."

Ginevra had calmed. She felt her face getting red. What on earth possessed her? Of course Draco did this to help her. If he wanted her to be hurt or embarrassed, he wouldn't need to lift a finger; just let her keep the diary and watch it slowly consume her.

"I guess you wouldn't have let all of this happen if you still had the book," Ginevra said thoughtfully. "What happened to it?"

"To put it simply I wasn't much of a thief, Ginevra. Someone else stole the book right off me while I slept, Selwyn as it turned out. I had to wait 'til morning to mail it to father and that was all the time he needed. He must have hidden it somewhere before his suspension, and as soon as we find out where, we can end this! _If_ you're not too busy hexing me to help out."

Ginevra exhaled slowly. She put her wand away. "That's why he sent Hermione down the hallway. He _was_ trying to get her killed. But how did he know what the diary was for?"

"Maybe he wrote in it and Riddle told him."

"Why would he tell Selwyn and not me? That's the whole idea, right? He bewitches people and makes them do things without knowing it."

Draco looked askance at Luna. That was a good point. If Tom was so tight-lipped, how _had_ Selwyn found out the diary's purpose?

Before the three of them could explore this question further, their wands jumped in their pockets (or behind their ear in Luna's case). All three of them stood bolt upright from the table and when Ginevra drew out her wand again, it glowed a powerful silver.

"Or maybe a better question is, if Selwyn hasn't got the book anymore then who does?"

Luna shut her eyes and stood very still. Perhaps she was steeling herself for the possibility of having to use her mother's magic again. "Quickly. Where is Sister?"

Ginevra pulled the Marauder's Map from her robe pocket. Even now she kept it close to her body and whispered the incantation so they couldn't overhear. The Map unfurled, bringing a vast diagram of Hogwarts Castle into view. Hundreds of names appeared before her, and sure enough the one she sought—Sister—was rising quickly up from some unmarked place at the bottom of the parchment and towards Moaning Myrtle's bathroom. The Chamber really was beneath the school, and far beneath it at that. No wonder it hadn't been discovered yet.

"It's her." Ginevra's tone was businesslike, though her heart thudded in her chest like Dobby's cursed bludger under the bleachers. "Follow me! Maybe we can cut her off this time."

"Are you mad? I'm not sticking my neck out there again! I've had enough near-death experiences to last a lifetime, thank you very much. Just find the Baron and tell him to take care of it."

"He's a ghost! He can't do everything, Draco. He can't _stop_ Sister. He can't drive her off if she's about to kill someone. Besides, this is your family's responsibility! Now you're coming with me to that bathroom or I'm going to drag you there myself!"

He took one look at her and he knew that she meant it. Luna said nothing, just stood beside her childhood friend and stared at him. His heart dropped like a freezing stone. He couldn't let them go by themselves. He'd gotten them into this, Ginevra especially, and now they were his responsibility too.

He rose from his chair, and without another word they raced out of the kitchens towards the nearest stairwell. Draco overtook the redhead halfway there and winked, showing off the benefits of his Quidditch training. She scowled, vowing to make the Gryffindor team next year and show him up.

They scrambled up the stairs and towards the bathroom, hands poised instinctively near their eyes so they could cover them at a moment's notice. But the telltale puddle already lay outside the door, so fresh that it still trickled between the stones.

With an oath, Draco shoved the door open and rushed inside Moaning Myrtle's for the first time in his life. While nothing could beat the prefect's bath this was one of the finer lavatories he had seen; shame it wasn't properly maintained. The floors were imported Italian tile, and a large fountain sat in the centre of the floor.

"Blimey," he said, momentarily stunned. "Girls get everything, don't they?"

"Look!" Ginevra grabbed his sleeve and pointed to the floor.

There, glistening in the moonlight from the window, was a trail of water. Normally it would have been everywhere due to Myrtle flooding the bathroom daily, but this must have been one of her good days, for she was gone and the rest of the floor relatively dry. Draco examined the trail and saw that it flowed to the doorway from one of the sinks.

Or, rather, the place where the sink should have been. It was sitting forward and sideways on the floor, as though something or someone very strong had simply shoved it aside. In its place stood a dark, gaping hole large enough for a person—or a creature as wide as a person—to slide through.

"The plumbing," Draco said in awe. "Damn it all. It _does_ go down to the Chamber of Secrets. Straight from here!"

"This is not the time to be worrying about the Chamber itself," Luna said brusquely. "Where is Sister? And are there any muggleborns in her path?"

"No," Ginevra said curiously after a quick scan of the Map. "Just a few pure-bloods, and they aren't even nearby. We're the only students on the whole second floor."

Draco breathed a sigh of relief. "Good. The hunter may be loose, but at least she won't find any prey."

His friend's voice became a nervous squeak. "I'm not so sure about that."

"Why not?"

"Because she's already coming back this way."

So soon?! It couldn't be. But then he felt the telltale rumbling of the tiles beneath his feet. Dust and cobwebs floated down from the ceiling, jarred loose by strong vibrations that were coming ever closer. Draco saw a trail of spiders scurrying out of the webs and down the hall as fast as their many legs could carry them.

"She wasn't sent after muggleborns this time, was she?" Ginevra whispered. "She was sent after us."

"She can't control herself when the Heir gives her an order," Draco said, his voice trembling. "Get out, quickly!"

The redhead's voice was hoarse with fear. "No time. She's outside the—"

The door burst open, and Ginevra tackled him to the floor before he could see the monster lunging into the bathroom.

 _"Luna!"_ he shouted.

From his position he could see her feet as she stood before the looming basilisk, just a few yards from its glistening scales. The moment that followed, lying there helplessly as he waited for those feet to go stiff and her body to collapse, was among the worst in his life. Then he would know Sister's terrible gaze had hit home, and his best friend in the world was gone forever.

But one second passed, then five, then ten, and Luna Lovegood did not fall.

Sister hissed slowly, hesitantly. She must be just as confused as they were.

 _"What's going on?"_ demanded a cold and bitter voice. Needless to say, it was not Sister. _"Why are you still alive?!"_

Draco was dying to look up, to see what Luna was doing and where this voice was coming from, but he didn't dare. One glance from the basilisk and it would be curtains.

"You can thank my father for that," answered Luna. "He thinks of everything."

 _"Ahh, yes. Rest assured I know all about you. Daft and duplicitous just like the rest of your family, so attached to your precious magical creatures. It was only a matter of time before one of you contaminated Slytherin."_

"You're quite right, sir. But I'm afraid you have the advantage of me."

 _"You don't need to know who I am. That fool Selwyn may have gotten himself thrown out, but the Heir has been apprised of the situation ... and he wants you all out of the way. A pity. The Malfoys could have been such useful allies."_

"The only pity," Luna said solemnly, "is what will happen to anyone who threatens my friends. _Lumos ultima!"_

Light flooded the bathroom, glaring off the mirrors and filling every crack and crevice in the stones. There was a harsh cry, as though the man with the cold voice were in great pain. Draco watched Luna's feet—clad in two old powder blue sneakers with odd buttons attached—as she maneuvered to the side. She was stalking Sister, herding her slowly and deliberately towards the black hole from whence she came.

 _"Kill them, you worthless freak!"_ the voice shouted furiously, and uselessly, for snakes couldn't understand English. _"They'll find the host!"_

But the "freak" who was born and sheltered in the dark for a thousand years wanted no part of Pandora Lovegood's magic. Draco caught a glimpse of her scales sliding across the tiles as she recoiled from that light; then he and Ginevra drew their wands, intensifying the glare. The voice howled again, and Sister fled. Only when her tail had vanished into the hole did Draco raise his eyes.

The first thing he saw as the light dissipated was Luna, breathing hard with her wand clenched in her fist, eyes shielded by the oddest pair of glasses Draco had ever seen. One lens was blue, the other pink; both appeared opaque and made him dizzy when he tried to focus on them. Housing them were intricately patterned frames in the shape of two thumbless hands. They looked ridiculous, and a bit too large for her face, but they had allowed her to meet a basilisk's gaze and live. That was all he cared about right now.

"Spectrespecs," she said finally. "They allow one to see wrackspurts. And look into a basilisk's eyes, obviously. I shall have to ask daddy to make more of them."

Overwhelmed with relief, her friends rushed over and embraced her.

"Gods," Draco said into her hair. "Don't you _ever_ do that to me again."

"I take back everything I ever thought about your father ... he's a genius," Ginevra said, laughing softly. "Now, what in the world just happened?!"

Luna frowned thoughtfully, taking off the Spectrespecs and tucking them into her pocket. "I am not certain myself. 'Tis not every day one sees a basilisk with a talking mirror 'round its neck. This might have been the first time, in fact."

"Charmed two-way mirrors," Draco said. "I've heard of them, though it's bloody complicated magic and I never knew you could get one past the wards ... but who am I kidding? Anyone can get anything past the wards here. Mirrors, dark artefacts, basilisks. Merlin, I wish they'd hurry up and sack Dumbledore."

Ginevra huffed and smoothed down her hair. "I'm starting to agree with you! That was much too close. At this rate we won't survive 'til Christmas. But Luna, who _was_ that man? What did he look like?"

"I did not see him clearly. His voice reminded me of something, but I cannot be sure. And I'll not be speaking of it here. At the moment I am more curious about this 'host' he spoke of."

All three of them jumped as the door creaked open again. It was no monster this time, but a sight that was nearly as shocking.

"Blaise," Draco gasped out.

His tall, dark housemate seemed not to hear him at all. He stood there swaying gently on his feet as though in a trance, then shuffled into the bathroom. His eyes were clouded, unfocused, staring right through them as he advanced to the displaced sink and whispered something in a strange sort of hiss. Immediately the sink moved back into place, sealing the tunnel that must lead down to the freezing depths of the Chamber. Only now as Blaise stepped into the moonlight did they see the wet, shining stains and dark feathers stuck to the front of his expensive black dressing-gown.

And then Ginevra felt it: that unmistakable sensation of being called, pulled towards someone she knew very well. At last, everything fell into place.

"Right," she said faintly. "Is one of you going to grab him, or should I?"

They all moved at once. Blaise didn't struggle, didn't even cry out as he was tackled to the floor. Ginevra's hands were inside his robes within moments and there, from an inner pocket next to his heart, she found the old issue of _The Quibbler_ he'd been reading and writing in for the last two months. Dark magic radiated from the paper and into every cell of her body, a mute siren song that was all too familiar: _open me, write in me, I'm so lonely, I need you ... I love you._

"It's him," she said.

Draco's wand shook in his fingers as he aimed for the magazine and whispered a general counter-spell. _"Finite incantatem."_

The bright colors and logo faded away, leaving the weathered cover and stained pages of Tom Riddle's diary.

Ginevra dropped the book as though it burned her hand and scrambled away with fresh horror in her eyes. Though she and Blaise were nearly polar opposites, she looked at him now and saw herself—the person she had been from August to October—with disturbing clarity. So these were the rewards of Tom Riddle's "friendship." He had made her feel special, but she wasn't. To him she was just another resource to be exploited and cast aside, and for what? So he could wake up a monster and murder people who were different from him. It was ridiculous to be mad at Draco when he had rescued her from the fate his friend now suffered. Sure he had done it for his own reasons, his own ambitions, but not all wizards who flirted with darkness were the same. Draco wanted to build up his legacy constructively, not stand atop a pile of bodies.

Draco fretted and complained, muttering to himself almost, as he cradled Blaise's head in his arms. "Right under our noses this whole time ... poor bloke, what on earth has Richard dragged you into ... no pure-blood wizard deserves this ... come on mate, wakey wakey."

"I was wondering who'd been killing the roosters lately," Luna remarked, gesturing to the feathers. "Their call is death to a basilisk, you know, as surely as Sister's gaze is death to us."

Ginevra marveled at her composure. Nothing seemed to faze her. Until now she'd chalked it up to her best friend being a bit dotty, but now she wasn't sure. Whatever it was, she admired it and so did Draco. "Money can't buy trust, boys," her father once told her brothers. "Just look at the Slytherins, eh? If there's one good thing about living on modest means, it's that we don't have all those fair-weather-friends coming and going and tracking mud on your mother's clean floors."

An ally who would stand by him no matter what, would risk her life to protect him as she had just done ... to Draco Malfoy, that must mean the world.

With the diary no longer in contact with his body, Blaise began to stir. He groaned and looked blearily up at their faces, then at the bloodstained feathers on his chest. Seconds went by as he tried to piece everything together. Then he sighed and closed his eyes, exhausted.

"I give up, Malfoy. Do _you_ know the reason I'm here?"

"I think so, Blaise," the blond replied, and gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "But you're not going to like it."

* * *

 _Hello, Tom Riddle._

 **Impossible. Could this be who I think it is?**

 _You knew me as Ginny._

 **Ginny! Thank Salazar. I thought I might never see your writing again!**

 _It's Ginevra now. A lot's happened since October, hasn't it?_

 **Yes! So many strange and disturbing things. I've been so worried and afraid. The child who's been writing to me** — **Blaise Zabini? Perhaps you know him. What an arrogant pain in the neck! All he cares about are blood purity and books. Not that both of those aren't great things, but he had such a lack of imagination. It would seem I was confiscated from you by a prefect ... Selwyn, that's his name. _He_ wrote to me for a few weeks as well. What a nutter. I can only say I'm relieved to be back in your hands. How did you ever manage it?**

 **...**

 **Ginevra? Are you there?**

 **...**

 **What's wrong? Something feels different.**

 _That's because you can't steal my energy anymore. I'm controlling the quill with my wand._

 **I don't know what you're talking about. You must have taken leave of your senses. I would never do such a thing to a friend.**

 _No, I don't imagine you would. But that's not a problem for you, is it? You don't have any friends. All you want are slaves. People you can use and just throw aside. All you care about is yourself, Tom Riddle. I know because you killed Myrtle Warren and let Hagrid take the fall._

 **...**

 **Who's been telling you such nonsense?**

 _I'll keep that to myself. I've told you enough already. You said I could trust you, and you lied. All you wanted was to use me to open the Chamber of Secrets. And now you're using Zabini to do it instead._

 **Ginny, please. I don't know what you're talking about. I'm so confused. All these people are demanding things of me, saying things about me that aren't true. Don't listen to them. Listen to me, Ginny—**

 _Ginevra._

 **Ginevra. I'm sorry. Please, I need you more than ever now. Stay with me and you shall have all the power and money and opportunities you ever desired, just as I always promised. Wouldn't you like that?**

 _Yes, I would. But I'd rather get it without selling my soul to a dark artefact, if it's all the same to you._

 **What are you on about now? You're not making sense.**

 _You might as well stop playing innocent, because this is the last time I'm writing you. And I'll make sure no one else ever does either. Zabini told us everything. I know you and Selwyn were using him to open the Chamber of Secrets. I know you're the Heir of Slytherin. I know you were lying to me._

 **Very well, little weasel. You're right. I have opened the Chamber, many times now. And I will open it again, and again, no matter what you do to stop it. I am eternal, indestructible. Someone else will always find me.**

 _So you really are evil. I should have known from the start. I told you everything. I gave you everything!_

 **Yes, you did, you filthy little blood traitor. And you were delicious. Now piss off.**

 _I don't think so. I think my friends and I will stop you first._

 **You can't. No matter how many of you vermin get in my way, one day I shall purify this school and then all of wizarding Britain. And when I do, your worthless name will be one of the first on my list.**

 _You make me laugh when you try to sound all threatening and scary like that. But you're just a book. A memory._

 **Yes, continue taunting me, little girl. It will only prolong your death.**

 _I'm sorry to spoil your fun, Tom. But the little girl you knew is gone. Soon you'll be gone too, because I'm going to destroy you for what you tried to do to me. And I'll make it slow and painful, just like you taught me._

She closed the diary and slid it into the envelope Luna was holding, already marked with the address of Malfoy Manor. Luna sealed the package, placed it in the reliable talons of Draco's sleepy owl, and sent him off. They watched Alaric glide silently into the night until Gemma Farley impatiently cleared her throat from the doorway.

"There. I don't know what was so bloody important that Malfoy needed me to escort you to the owlery after hours, but you've sent your letter and now I need to get you back to your rooms. Come along then, quickly now."

Luna placed a gentle hand on her back. Ginevra responded with a shaky smile and followed her out of the room. She was done with Tom at last, and the cursed book was on its way back to Draco's parents where it couldn't hurt anyone else. She felt like a million pounds had been lifted from her shoulders.

It was over. For a while, at least.

"He will pay," Luna whispered to her before they parted ways.

"Don't worry about Riddle, Luna. I gave him enough warning for both of us."

"Not Riddle," the fey girl murmured after a moment. "Selwyn. For using one of daddy's magazines to cast that spell. Yes. He will have to pay for that."

Ginevra shook her head in wonder. "Blimey. You don't forgive any slight against your father, do you?"

"He is all I have without mummy. No, Ginevra. I can forget, sometimes. But I do not forgive."

* * *

 _Dream Ssspeaker._

Draco ignored the voice. He didn't want to talk right now. He wanted to sleep. They had been up another hour sneaking Blaise back into the dungeons, cleaning the rooster's blood off his dressing-gown, and getting the truth out of him about the diary. First he tried to pass it off as a gift from his mother, but finally he admitted Selwyn had given it to him shortly after Halloween with some cock-and-bull story that it was a new product from Zonko's Joke Shop (in which the Selwyns owned a controlling interest) and he wanted Blaise to try it out. So as not to draw attention, he cast a powerful disillusioning charm on the book to make it look like _The Quibbler._ Blaise knew nothing of the diary's true nature, or that this Tom Riddle had ever been a real person. As far as Draco could tell Selwyn had coldly stood by and watched while one of his fellow Slytherins fell under Riddle's control, unknowingly releasing the basilisk time and again.

Sister's slick and heavy coils descended around his body. Still furious with her, he continued staring into the darkness of his dream.

 _You are aware of my nature. The Heir ordered me to kill you all. I cannot defy him._

"What you did was wrong, Sister," he said.

 _There is no wrong or right,_ she hissed back at him stubbornly. She must be getting used to speaking with him. She wasn't even drawing out her S-sound anymore ... much. _There is no truth but survival. This is what humansss fail to understand. It is needful that I obey the Heir. If I do not, I shall be harmed. As will you and your fellows if you continue to interfere. You are mere hatchlings. It is bessst that you not endanger yourselves further._

Was she concerned for him? Perhaps, as much as a snake could be. But that had no bearing on her actions. She was a cold-blooded reptile with few morals, little compassion, and no choice. She reminded him of poor Theodore, whose father would never be satisfied 'til his son had followed in his footsteps. Could she could be reasoned with in a similar manner? There was only one way to find out.

"You say survival is the most important thing," Draco said, placing his hands firmly on her scales. "But you're obeying a madman who's only going to get you killed! I told you that once already!"

Silence. He heard water dripping all around them.

 _Explain,_ she snapped.

"The Heir is nothing but a spirit haunting a book. Hasn't even got a body of his own. That's why he needs you, and Richard, and that other wanker in the mirror to do his dirty work. To kill muggleborns for him, right?"

Sister sounded impatient. _Yesss. Go on._

"You won't have to do that anymore because we captured him, Sister, after we drove you back down to the Chamber."

 _You what?!_ For the first time she seemed frightened. She loosened her coils and flattened herself against the stone, as if she might flee at any moment. _It cannot be!_

"The diary is ours, and he's powerless now. You'll never see him again. Now we must decide what to do with you. You helped me once, when Richard attacked me. I would like to help you by setting you free from here. There are places I can take you where you won't be hurt, or hurt anybody else. But if you don't stop following the Heir, I won't be able to do that. I will have to leave you down here."

 _You will ... leave me? For how long will you be gone?_

He kept his eyes on the floor as he stepped away from her, breaking their physical contact to drive the point home. "For as long as I live. You would leave me no choice. Eventually the adults who protect the ... hatchlings here will find out about you, and they won't understand you like I do. They'll kill you, Sister."

 _No!_ Sister was highly agitated now. She lashed her tail against the wall with a livid rasp. _I wish to survive. You mussst remove me from here! My first master told me of things in which snakes are meant to slither, of soil and grass and sand. Hide me in such a place, where my gaze does not kill. The Heir cannot give me orders if he cannot find me!_

"Perhaps. I will need time to think about this before I decide."

 _Think, think. That is all you humans seem to do,_ she griped, but she no longer seemed about to panic. _Think, then, and make your decision. Only do not drive me from your dreams. I shall be loyal to you, Dream Ssspeaker. I shall bow to the power of your terrible light, and hunt no more muggleborns forever._

Draco sighed and embraced her again as the dream began to pass. His vision blurred at the edges, again giving way to unconsciousness. "I hope so, Sister. I really do."

* * *

It was somewhere past two in the morning, and Severus Snape still sat on the edge of his bed, spidery fingers gripping the blankets and relaxing, gripping and then relaxing. This was unacceptable. This was a full-blown disaster in the making and he wouldn't be able to sleep again 'til he decided what to do about it.

Under too much pressure from the Ministry to deal with the work himself, Dumbledore had given him some typically vague orders about touching up the wards around campus. In the main, wards were protective spells meant to keep one safe. They came in various forms; there were the wards many magical parents cast upon their children to prevent unwanted sexual contact, often accompanied by a context-providing lecture known as the "ward talk." There were blood wards, which were cast on a household to keep the family members from serious harm within its walls; the unmatched blood wards on Privet Drive were Dumbledore's justification for leaving Harry Potter with his muggle aunt and her family, completely ignorant of magic and his own legend for over a decade while Dumbledore meddled with his inheritance at Gringotts Bank. And there were the more general type of wards that were first cast on Hogwarts hundreds of years ago to ensure student safety, monitor the types of magic being used on school grounds, and keep out intruders.

The main problem being that they _didn't._ Most magic eventually wore off, and while these spells were simple enough for any capable wizard to renew, Dumbledore had let them dwindle away to almost nothing. The proof was in the pudding; last year the late Professor Quirrell let a dangerous twelve-foot mountain troll into the school, not to mention entering and exiting the premises himself using part of his body as a host for You-Know-Who. But it was extremely disconcerting for Snape to be granted access to these wards and see for himself just how ineffectual they'd become. He had to spend every free minute and much of his magical energy last weekend making them function properly again, then enchant an enormous chart in the corner of his office to display the information they picked up. This would be front-page material for the _Daily Prophet_ if it ever got out; fortunately if Rita Skeeter ever had been lurking around the castle, she was most likely gone now; the spells weren't picking up any unauthorised guests.

But even without her, there was plenty of undetected mayhem happening in this castle that Caretaker Filch would've had a field day with. The updated wards now allowed him to see when Bridget Holness used a heat-emitting _Flagrante_ spell to discourage Cassius Warrington from sitting with her by the common room fireplace. They showed him when an older Ravenclaw had blurted out sensitive information to a younger one, then tried to erase it from his mind it via a memory charm; these were forbidden due to their potential for egregious abuse, and Snape had acted swiftly to punish the perpetrator.

Most disturbing of all, they showed him when Luna Lovegood's wand cast extremely powerful and dangerous magic in the second-floor girls' toilet.

It was so obscure that the network did not even recognise it, but the detector charms virtually screamed the moment it was used, as well as the moment an unidentified magical creature had entered their range. To watch what a student was doing via the wards was already morally questionable; to do so in the lavatories was unthinkable. So while Snape did not know everything that had happened, he was concerned enough to leave his quarters and personally investigate. The girl was long gone by the time he arrived and so were any others who might have been with her; it was like she had known he was coming.

This would have to be checked out. And though he preferred not to think about it, this was most likely part and parcel of Lucius and Narcissa's scheme to investigate the possibility that the Chamber of Secrets was real. They had finally divulged this to him before he left Malfoy Manor, urging him to watch over the four children but not to interfere except in an emergency. Snape had brushed it off as one of Narcissa's odd fancies, but such an emergency might well have occurred this very night—much too quickly and unexpectedly for him to do a thing about it.

This was what kept him up in the middle of the night and made his throat cry out for a stiff drink. That someone, namely Lovegood, could have been killed on his watch.

Obviously he should avoid bringing this information before Dumbledore. Quite apart from the injustice Snape had endured at his hands, there was his ongoing campaign against Lucius; he'd been waiting for a chance to nail the dark wizard to the wall ever since he was acquitted of war crimes in 1982. Snape jumped up from his bed and began to write some letters. If he was going to protect the Malfoys and these children, he needed a better plan and more information to go on. In the meantime, he had to prevent Dumbledore from discovering any of this. The DMLE watched the Headmaster with growing suspicion, and the Board of Governors was making noise about suspending him; all they needed to act was hard, incontrovertible evidence of some wrongdoing. In other words, an excuse.

And when it came to crafting excuses, no one could outdo a Slytherin.

* * *

December set in with bitter cold and sparse, stinging flurries of snow. Most of the students huddled together indoors and fussed over their end-of-term exams, but to Draco and his friends these things seemed like luxuries. Selwyn was gone, Sister stayed locked in the Chamber of Secrets, Blaise looked well even if he was being eerily quiet since the incident, and Tom Riddle's diary was once again in Malfoy hands. Lucius and Narcissa were so pleased to get it back that they sent Draco a care package loaded with Honeydukes' finest. It was far too much for him to finish alone, especially with holiday break coming up, so he thoughtfully put it out in the common room for his housemates to enjoy (after Luna had selected some sugar candy, of course). The "Light-Bearers" remained undefeated in the final Duelling Club meeting of the year, narrowly winning over Hermione's team by incapacitating her weaker housemates and ganging up on her with a blizzard of well-cast but harmless hexes. The other three houses whispered that Draco and Hermione didn't seem to hate each other nearly as much as they used to, but so far only the Slytherins knew the reason.

They were slowly but surely getting used to Hermione and Sen working in the common room. Most of their time there was spent allocating Draco and Pansy's Christmas expenses. Each pure-blood refused to be outdone by the other, and the result was that both spent every knut available on gifts for their parents and friends. With their official business concluded, Hermione decided to liven things up by showing Draco some of the possessions she'd brought with her from the muggle world.

The first-year girls were fascinated with the photo album from her summer vacation in France, partly because none of the pictures moved. ("It's so creepy. Your whole family looks like Mrs. Norris!" Morag remarked.) Luna took great interest in reading about the legends of Bigfoot, the Loch Ness Monster, and alleged ghosts in one of Hermione's books on the occult. But it was the tape recorder that most fascinated Draco and Ginevra. Draco had never seen a muggle machine in his life, and Hermione had to stop him multiple times from accidentally breaking it or trying to take it apart.

"You're worse than Mr. Weasley!" she said finally, and Draco set it aside with a pout.

How could he not be interested? He hadn't learned a sound recording spell yet, and here was some outlandish muggle contraption devoted to that very purpose. "Fine then. If you're so smart, then show me how it works!"

Hermione could never turn down a chance to explain something. "It's simple really. You insert this cassette—no, Malfoy, don't touch it, they damage easily—and press the red button just like this. The machine will record any sounds that are nearby, but it's best used for recording your voice by speaking directly into the speaker. Go ahead, say something now."

Draco leaned closer to the black box with some trepidation. "Er ... what should I say?"

"Anything. It doesn't matter."

"Say you're a slimy diary-stealing snake with a little rodent face," Ginevra snickered, nudging him in the side.

Draco sneered. "Only if you'll admit you're a dead-broke wastrel who gads about with dead people."

They had been needling each other like this in a half-joking manner ever since the night of the girls' bathroom incident, which Hermione was honestly relieved she had missed. She shook her head and marvelled at their immaturity. "That's good enough. When you're finished, you press the stop button to end the recording. Then you have to press rewind—just for a moment now, or it will take you all the way back to the beginning of the tape—and you can listen to it again as many times as you like. Listen."

She pressed 'play' again and stifled a giggle at the pure-bloods' amazed expressions as their conversation from thirty seconds ago played back loud and clear in the dorm.

"By Circe's wand," Draco exclaimed softly, shaking his head. "And it doesn't even use records."

Hermione had to wonder at the daftness of wizarding society sometimes. Here was a world where one could make the impossible possible with the flick of a wand, yet they still went to the trouble of writing with quill and ink, and the most advanced machine in most magical homes was a gramophone. Personal recording machines were almost unheard of. Still, she had learned not to judge them too harshly. Wizards and witches were forced to withdraw from the muggle world centuries ago for fear of their lives; it was only natural that their technology would develop at a different pace.

Ginevra had to admit that the recorder was interesting, and her father surely would get a kick out of it. But as Draco continued to fire questions about it, she found her attention drifting to Blaise. It wasn't the first time she had seen him sitting off to the side, staring into the fire without speaking to anyone. She felt like she should say something. While Draco knew him far better than she did, everyone knew how he loved to read. It must have been awful to have that used against him.

"Zabini?" she said politely.

He flashed the same suave, automatic smile she'd seen him use with other girls, but barely looked up from the flames. "If you don't mind, Weaslette, I'd much rather not be disturbed now."

"I don't blame you," she said. "I know my family isn't popular in here. You don't have to say anything to me if you don't want to. Let me talk to you for just a few minutes and then I'll be out of your hair."

She felt a touch embarrassed, remembering that he had no hair. He always kept his head neatly shaved. Blaise did not remark on it. He scowled a bit, shuffled his feet. Momentarily he shrugged.

She took that for a "yes" and leaned against the hearth. "You're holding up much better than I did. When I lost him, I mean. I didn't leave my dorm for days. It was like losing a friend. No ... I _did_ lose a friend."

He continued to stare into the fire.

"Tom had a way of making me want to trust him, and help him. There was nothing I couldn't tell him. He was something I had all to myself. He made me feel like ... like I was special. Growing up like I have, you don't get a whole lot of special treatment. My parents just don't have the time. I don't suppose you have that problem, being an only child, but ... "

"Don't suppose too much," he said.

When Blaise fell silent again, Ginevra continued. "I still remember him as a friend, even though I know better now. He wasn't what he seemed but he made me feel good, while it lasted. He taught me that I could be powerful, and important, and ... yeah, that's what writing to him was like for me. I just wanted you to know you're not alone."

She brushed a few loose strands of auburn hair behind her ear and turned to leave.

"I can't believe you speak of him that way," Blaise said suddenly, stopping her.

"In what way?"

"In the past tense, like he's gone. That's ignorance at its finest, Weaslette, not that I'd expect any less of you. He'll never be gone. He'll never let me forget him. I don't _want_ to forget him."

She swallowed down the urge to backhand him across his smug, superior face. It would be wrong to take his insults personally. He was in pain, no matter how well he concealed it.

Blaise finally looked at her. His expression was carefully blank, but the green glow of the lamps and the orange light from the hearth still made him look strange. "I told him things. Things that ... "

"That you wouldn't tell anyone else," she said helpfully, when he stalled.

"My secrets. No, more than that. The trust that came with them. He stole that. I felt him stealing it, didn't you? Drinking it from me like butterbeer, and I can't ... that's one thing I won't let him keep. I have to tell someone else one of those things."

Ginevra knelt down beside his chair. Still unsure what she was doing but feeling a profound gesture was needed, she drew her wand and placed it against her throat. "I don't expect you to tell me, but if it's what you want ... no one else will hear it, Zabini."

"My mother," Blaise said thickly, in a voice so low that someone standing a foot away couldn't have heard. "Do you know what she does when I get hurt? Or when I feel down about something?"

Ginevra shook her head.

"She laughs at me."

Blaise stared straight ahead and exhaled slowly. For the moment, his burden had lightened.

Some commotion behind them seemed to break the spell. Crabbe and Goyle were playing a game of gobstones with an audience, and Goyle seemed to have won.

"I hear you're staying here over the break," she said when she turned back to him.

"What of it?" A note of warning entered his voice. She got the feeling he wasn't going to volunteer any further information, at least not right now.

"May I send you a letter?"

She caught a flicker of hope on his face before he shrugged and looked away. "If you insist. Just as long as your letters don't possess me or steal my energy."

Ginevra didn't smile. It wasn't meant to be funny. "I think I can manage that."


	18. Thestrals and Black Liquorice

_A/N: We know that the Christmas holidays last two weeks at Hogwarts. So I'm going to say that in 1992 the last day of class was Friday, December 18. This means that everybody returns to class on Monday, January 4th, 1993. This story was driving me half-nuts for a while because of how much longer it's taking, so I've tried to relax a bit and write what comes to me rather than force it to go this way or that. I'm still not really thrilled with this chapter, but I don't want to edit the thing to death, so I'm putting it out there and forging ahead._

* * *

sailorbunny055: _It was about four in the morning over here when I got Chapter 17 up, just before I had to go to work myself. Draco and Luna are two characters we rarely see brought together, and their friendship has been a lot of fun to develop._

astomeria fornax: _Glad you liked that part! I'm not sure how well Blaise would have gotten along with Ginny ... but Ginevra, he might have a chance with. Naturally he's going to look down his nose at her all the time, at least early on, but she's got a thicker skin now._

Guest#19/Philkins27: _Selwyn chose Blaise to have the diary, and eventually be Riddle's sacrifice, for several reasons. (1) Blaise trusted him. (2) Reading was his passion and his mental defences were down while he engaged in it, allowing Riddle to manipulate him even more quickly and easily than he did Ginevra. (3) He has one living relative (his mother) who is both wealthy and highly unpopular in Britain. After gaining a physical body Riddle could have gone on to disguise himself as Blaise, murder Kali Zabini, pin the crime on one of her many lovers, and inherit all her money. With a physical body, a powerful alter ego, and a great fortune, Riddle would be even better off than originally planned. Classic Slytherin opportunism. But yes, I would very much like to hear who you thought the host was going to be. :)_

Guest#20 (ch.17): _You're very welcome! I'm glad I could help make your day. ^^_

Ezekeel: _Thank you so much! Making Ginevra interesting and likeable was one of my goals from the start. I just wasn't sure how I was going to do it. I starting showing a few of the exchanges between her and Tom and that led to the whole diary plot that ended up driving the story._

The One True Nobody (ch.4): _Thank you for your compliments. I hope this story inspires you the same way other Slytherin-centred AUs like 'They Shook Hands', 'Potter in Green', and 'The Memento' inspired me._

Sunset Whispers: _I love Luna's Spectrespecs and was waiting for a chance to do something with them. In canon they took a few more years to come along, but I theorised that Xeno came up with the design long before and just never got around to making them. ^^_

Qinlongfei: _That's a relief! I was worried about the Ginevra scene as I didn't really want to do anything that had our 'pure-blood trio' fighting, but after all that is what friends do, and it's especially what_ she _would do in that situation. Your points about Luna's Ravenclaw-like ability to intelligently plan ahead and Draco's Slytherin self-preservation are also really interesting. I think the mastermind behind Selwyn and the attacks will be revealed in this chapter, so get ready!_

* * *

 **Chapter XVIII: Thestrals and Black Liquorice**

—

 ** _Next Year, Ask 'Why?'_**

 _A Quibbler (not Slytherin Scrawl) Article, Christmas '92 Issue_

 _by Frye Harper and Alexandra Sykes_

 _It's only fitting that I begin my last article of this term just like my first, with a single word: CAZART!_

 _This word is not often used, especially by magical British folk. Some of you with friends in the American South may recognise it: you're surprised, and you know it shouldn't be a surprise at all. "Merlin's beard! I should have known!" That's what cazart means._

 _As I lay flat on my back in last week's Duelling Club meeting and counted the candles that float above the Great Hall, I knew that a wizard must make his mark in his own way. Writing is my way. I'm not a good duellist yet, and my grades are pretty good but I won't be challenging Morag Ollivander for top marks in first year anytime soon. Reporting is my life. You feel a surprise coming, jump on it, and ride it all the way to a good story._

 _So what is it that surprises me now? Our longtime Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, "the proverbial immovable object" as my dear friend Sykes calls him, is now under serious investigation by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement._ _The Department refuses to discuss their investigation with the_ Daily Prophet _or_ The Quibbler, _but it must be serious. Many of us never thought anything like this could happen. Neither did the Gryffindors, but not for the same reasons._

 _We see Professor Dumbledore as a man no one can touch, question, or disobey without grave consequences. Someone who could do almost anything without so much as an "oi" from the Ministry of Magic. The Gryffindors see him as a war hero whom evil forces are trying to bring down because he stands for all that is good in the world. Maybe both sides were wrong._

 _And that, dear readers, was my 'cazart' moment: that someone, anyone, was watching the Headmaster and keeping score. Because of course someone must be. I just never thought those 'someones' would be in the very same government he pulled out of the fire in the Wizarding War._

 _"You an' yer friends must be tickled pinker'n me prize pigs about this," said Hogwarts Gamekeeper Rubeus Hagrid (Gryf, non-graduate). "Now ya gone and made all this trouble for Dumbledore, an' we might never get to the bottom o' this Chamber o' Secrets business!"_

 _For the record, we Slytherins are not tickled pink. Hogwarts without Albus Dumbledore sounds as wrong to me as it probably does to you. We're not little gremlins who exist just to make trouble. We're not always wrong and we're not always right, either. We never dreamed that anyone would believe the students and graduates who wrote to our newsletter (which Dumbledore has since banned), but here we are._

 _I would like everyone in Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Ravenclaw to remember that we at the_ Scrawl _... sorry, I mean_ The Quibbler _of course ... are not politicians. We are student reporters. We say what we believe to be the truth. We're not trying to rewrite history or get anyone fired. Some Gryffindors have written letters demanding that I apologise for making this whole mess._ _To them I say that if the evidence was already there, then I didn't make the mess at all; I printed it. And I will not apologise for that._ _Whatever happens later, this whole thing is out of our hands now._

 _The Headmaster's job is to keep the students safe and make sure they get a complete education. How protected are we when any mountain troll, crazed professor, flying car, nargle, wrackspurt, blood-sucking bugbear, or cat-petrifier can just happen along on campus? How complete is our education when two of our classes_ — _History and Defence—have been so useless that we have to go to the library and Duelling Club just to learn anything important?_

 _These things are not the fault of the Slytherins. This is Professor Dumbledore's school. It is his responsibility and he is the most powerful wizard in the world. If things are this way, it's because he_ wants _them this way. And if that doesn't scare the Every-Flavour Beans out of you or make you ask "WHY?", it should. Asking that question is not a crime and I think it's time we all started doing so, not just the authorities in the Board of Governors and the DMLE._

 _Speaking of time, it has been a very twisted three months but I can't wait to see my family again. Good old dad is getting used to my being a snake. It was tense for a while but family always accepts you in the end. He's looking forward to seeing me during the holidays and the feeling is mutual. Happy Christmas and we'll see you all back at Hogwarts in January._

* * *

"I just worry about you. You know?"

Ginevra's pleasant expression tightened a bit. "Ron ... "

"Look, I know you don't like it, but I can't help it! I'm your brother after all."

She folded her arms and leaned back against the wall. The baby of the family had grown up a bit this year; Weasley was beginning to see that. The old Ginny was always underfoot and seeking attention, carrying on about this or that just to make herself heard. Now she talked less and listened more, as their parents would surely be happy about. But to whom had she been listening since she started her first year? Not him, that was plain.

"It's not just your teaming up with them in Duelling Club. Everyone understood that, though you didn't have to do it a _second_ time, you know. But what about when Snape caught that loony prefect with Malfoy? Everyone knows you and Hermione were there. That's not a bad thing mind you ... I mentioned his name in my last letter to mum and dad and they say his whole family was mixed up with the dark side ... bloke like that should be suspended. Or locked up, more like. I'm proud of you. Really."

Ginevra stood there in mild shock for just a moment. Then she hugged him so tightly it squeezed the breath out of him.

"Thank you, Ron," she said after stepping back. "You don't know how long I've waited to hear that."

The boy wheezed a bit and massaged his ribs before answering.

"Well, you know. Can't go being too nice to you. It'd spoil my reputation. What I was gonna say is, I wish you'd tell me what you were doing running around with Snape and Luna in the first place. And then there's the Bloody Baron ... " He paused and glanced cautiously around. He half-expected the ghost to be right behind him, listening. "A Gryffindor being around snakes like you are, people are bound to talk."

"We're a weird family. Kids always talk."

"Ginevra!"

"Well, we _are,"_ she said with a shrug. That was different too, Weasley thought. Not the stubbornness, the confidence. She didn't fly off the handle at small things anymore. "So people are always going to gossip about us."

"Yeah, I guess," he conceded. He didn't want to argue with her right now. "But when you're doing stuff that could make mum and dad look bad ... "

"You sound like you've been talking to Percy."

"Well, he _is_ right sometimes, pompous prat that he is. If it was just Luna I guess I could live with that, but _Malfoy?_ All of his lot are bad news. They're sneaky, they're liars, and they take to the dark side like ducks to water, every one of 'em. They're dirty little rats and they're proud of it— _ouch!_ Scabbers!" He glared at the pet rat in his right hand, who had just nipped him on the finger and was now feigning sleep.

Ginevra had to chuckle. "I know it, Ron."

"So why hang out with him then?" The gangly boy scowled as he thought of something. "Because he's always around Luna? Feel like you have to take the bad with the good, is that it?"

"Maybe," she said diplomatically. "You could say Luna and I are keeping him busy so you and Harry and Hermione can pull off ... whatever it is you're planning. I know it's something."

Damn, she was getting sharp. He jostled his bookbag uneasily on his shoulder. Astronomy class would be starting soon, and he had to get to the point before he left for the tower. Best to settle this whole thing between the two of them. He didn't want to tell their parents she had entered full teen rebellion mode at age eleven. That was the last thing they needed to hear about while trying to plan a nice Christmas vacation in Egypt. Then _all_ the Weasley children would be in trouble: Ginevra for hanging out with the wrong crowd, and the rest of them for failing to stop her.

"Fine. You're right, we are planning something, and it's much too important to screw up now." He screwed up his face as if it physically pained him to share this information. "We're going to find out whether Malfoy is the Heir of Slytherin."

She tried not to groan. "But Ron, I've already _told_ you it's not him. Why won't you listen to me?"

"It's not me, Gin ... Ginevra. It's Harry. You know him, he hates Malfoy even more than we do now. Says he's got to find out for himself."

She stood up straight and looked at him. "Just what is he going to do? Break into the Slytherins' common room and ask Malfoy at wandpoint?"

"No!" Weasley said quickly. He looked away from her and forced a laugh. "I mean, uh, 'course he isn't gonna threaten him in his own common room. Heh heh. That'd be stupid, right?"

Ginevra folded her arms and proceeded to interrogate him with her eyes. _Just like mum,_ he thought to himself. Here they were. Harry's stubbornness was making Hermione as nervous as him, and she'd been harping on him for a while to reach out to his sister again and tell her what was going on. This was the best opportunity he was going to get.

"Out with it, Ron," she said dangerously.

He gulped. "Look, first you have to swear you won't tell anyone about it, especially Slytherins! I mean it."

"Fine. I swear."

"We ... _might_ be doing something ... _kinda_ like that."

Ginevra looked stricken. "But that's just stupid! It's been months since anything happened!"

"That's just _it,_ Ginny!" Ron exploded, then remembered to keep his voice down. Yelling at her wouldn't get him anywhere. "Sorry. But look, some git goes to all that trouble, writing that stuff on the wall that Filch still can't scrub off, turning Mrs. Norris into the world's ugliest lawn ornament, and then nothing else happens? It don't make sense. Harry's climbing the walls trying to figure it out. He's going to do it with or without me and Hermione. And we don't want him to get hurt or lose a hundred points for Gryffindor, you know? So we were thinking ... well, since you know some snakes here and there ... "

She nodded slowly. Now she was getting the picture. "You want me to make sure nothing happens to him."

Weasley sighed heavily. "Yeah."

"I can do that," she whispered.

He brightened. "You can? You're positive? Without telling _anyone,_ right?"

"Positive, Ron. But first you've got to tell me about his plan."

* * *

Draco and his friends drifted through mid-December without much difficulty. Not that their schoolwork got any easier, but it seemed unimportant next to the dangers they had faced. Their holiday homework assignments were sure to be a bother but Draco would cross that bridge when he came to it. As the last week before Christmas arrived, Hermione met them in the conference room wanting to know what their plans were for the break. Luna would be spending the holidays with her father, who was busily preparing a "dirigible plum" pudding to bring to the Malfoys' society ball. Ginevra's parents had escaped the frigid weather to visit her oldest brother Bill in Egypt, where he worked as a curse-breaker at the Gringotts Bank in Cairo. Ron, Fred, and George chose to stay behind. Percy would remain as well, just to make sure Fred and George didn't get up to any mischief while they had the run of Gryffindor Tower. Ginevra herself had been invited to stay at Luna's, and was taking forever to make up her mind about it.

Everyone was surprised when Draco announced he was taking the train back to Malfoy Manor. The girls looked strangely relieved to hear that he would be gone for the entire break.

"Oh! Well, that ... that's wonderful, Malfoy," Hermione beamed.

"I say, what's got you so excited? Just that glad to be rid of me, are you?"

"Best present you could give her," Ginevra said with a wink.

"But really, I'm just happy for you, that's all," Hermione said quickly. "We were sure your parents would ask you to stay here as they're still expecting that raid, but ... "

"They decided it was best if we were all together. Even if the Ministry does come," Draco said. "And my parents' invitation to a holiday dinner still stands, if you two think you can bear another evening in our evil house of horrors."

Ginevra returned his smirk. "Can your parents bear another visit from a filthy blood traitor?"

Hermione looked nervous. "I'll see if I can get away from here for an evening. Harry and Ron don't know I'm working for you yet and I'd like to keep it that way."

"Well, just let Professor Snape know if you decide to come. He'll get you there and back before anyone knows you've gone. Quite good at that, he is. If I don't see you, Happy Christmas." Draco glanced around the room and produced a small rectangular parcel from his robe. It was unlabeled and wrapped in shining gold paper. "Don't open that 'til the day of, mind you."

Hermione was flabbergasted. Who would've thought her first Christmas present that year would be from Draco Malfoy?

"I don't know what to say," she said, squeezing the parcel in her hands.

"Good. Try saying nothing, for once."

"But Malfoy, I ... I didn't get _you_ anything. I didn't know we—"

"Nonsense. You've given me two months' worth of competent service. To a pure-blood family, that's more precious than gold. Just don't tell anyone I gave this to you. Can't have everyone thinking I've gone soft."

Draco quickly excused himself just in case she was about to turn on the waterworks. He never could fathom girls. How could Hermione be so touched by his gift and yet so thrilled to see him go? And why did Potter and Weasley, on the other hand, shuffle into the Great Hall the next morning looking like their owls had died? Gryffindors certainly were a strange lot.

"Malfoy's _what?!"_ Harry Potter croaked for the fourth time as he sat down to breakfast at the lions' table.

"He's leaving Hogwarts for Christmas, Harry," Hermione said apologetically. She felt bad for him after all the trouble they'd gone to, but had to admit that part of her found it funny as well. He looked almost heartbroken, like a jilted boyfriend.

"But he can't leave!" Potter insisted. "We have to catch him out as the Heir! You've spent months brewing the polyjuice!"

Ron shushed him, as best he could with his mouth full of bangers and mash.

Ginevra, eavesdropping on their conversation further down the table, had to jam a forkful of potatoes in her mouth just to keep from laughing. Imagine a straight-arrow like Hermione getting a book from the Restricted Section and brewing an illegal shape-shifting potion in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom! The same bathroom they'd almost died in trying to stop the basilisk. Had they opened the stall doors at any point, they would have seen it brewing in a cauldron atop one of the toilets. The weirdest part was that the Golden Trio's entire plan hinged on Draco staying at the castle. Instead he was going home despite the high probability of a Ministry raid, earning more admiration from his peers in the process—and not just in Slytherin either.

Some of the Hufflepuffs, Cedric Diggory in particular, were insisting they had seen him and Pansy Parkinson talking to their muggleborn housemate Haruka Endoh quite casually. This lent credence to the rumour that both Hermione and Ginevra were present when Selwyn was caught attacking him last month. The perception was that Draco was so grateful for this extraordinary gesture, he had turned over a new leaf and started tolerating the so-called "mudbloods." Ginevra had to laugh at that idea, too; imagine Draco making such a dramatic change on moral grounds alone! But when questioned by students who didn't know any better, she actively encouraged this interpretation. It sounded far more innocent than the truth, and he would thank her for it later.

Not surprisingly, her brother stopped her on their way out for a quick word.

"So he's leaving," he said in a hard voice.

"I guess so."

"Just swear to me that you didn't tip him off, Ginevra," Weasley snapped. "Swear it!"

She looked in his eyes and told him the truth. "Ron, I already swore to you I wouldn't tell anyone about Harry's plan, especially Malfoy, and I haven't. He says he's going home because his parents had a change of plans and they care more about seeing him than hiding from the raid. That's all I know."

Weasley heaved a sigh. "Right. I'm going to trust you then. Poor Harry, though. I don't know what he's going to do now. I guess it's kind of a relief we don't have to go through with it anymore, but he's going to drive 'Mione and me both crazy over the holiday. If I were you I'd get out of here and stay at Luna's after all."

"Thanks, Ron. I think that's the best idea you've had in a while."

* * *

Young photography buff Colin Creevey sprang from his bed to find that it was Saturday morning. That alone would have gotten him excited, but this was the Saturday morning that every young witch and wizard had been waiting for: the official end of fall term, when the vast majority of them departed for Hogsmeade Station and rode home for the holidays. Yet again he lived up to his nickname of "the walking alarm-clock," traipsing and jabbering around the dorm until all the other boys were awake.

Creevey was roundly cussed at and thrown out of the room as usual. Undeterred he scampered off to the showers, and following a quick wash-up and brush-up he skipped down the stairs of Gryffindor Tower for the last time that year. Like the other first-years he had never seen the carriages that the second through seventh-year students took to and from the train station. They were dazzling affairs pulled about by invisible steeds, and he couldn't wait to snap a few dozen pictures of them. Curiously he found that none of the carriages seemed to have room for him; any seats that appeared empty as he approached were suddenly filled by the time he got there, in some cases by random students who were unceremoniously yanked inside when the other occupants saw him coming.

Still, no Gryffindor worth his salt would let that stop him, especially not a photojournalist in the making! Too rambunctious to acknowledge Hagrid's orders to wait at the front of the line, the dark-haired muggleborn simply ran from one carriage to another until—what luck!—he found one with an open seat.

"Hullo!" he gasped out, ducking his head inside the shadowed interior. "So glad I found you! I thought I'd never get a ... "

His high, chirping voice trailed off as three pairs of eyes met his. The first pair was as cold and ashen as the winter clouds from which he sheltered, the next a shade of azure-grey pale and deep as the frozen surface of the Black Lake, the last glowing with an inner heat as blue as the flames of his parents' natural gas stove. As the faces became more distinct Creevey had to restrain himself from literally jumping for joy. It was _them!_ The undefeated duelling trio that his friend Frye Harper and all the other young students were talking about!

"So it's you, then," Draco Malfoy said in a bored drawl. "I knew we wouldn't make it off school grounds undisturbed."

Luna Lovegood squinted at him, trying to discern his features through her own mental fog. "I remember you. Daddy has published some of your work in _The Quibbler._ Will you be wanting a picture of us?"

Colin nodded so eagerly he nearly gave himself whiplash.

"Hello, Colin," Ginevra Weasley said with a stiff nod. "We'll let you ride along if you promise to take only ... five pictures?"

"Three," said Draco.

"One," ordered Luna. "And not in my eyes. I dislike the flash."

Ginevra turned back to him. "Agreed, Colin?"

He nodded, his enthusiasm only slightly dampened. "One picture then? No problem! I'll just save it for the perfect moment. And I'll be quiet the whole ride, really I will! You won't even know I'm here! And I know you Slytherins don't like Harry Potter, so I won't say a word about him, or how well he flies a broom or how bright green his eyes are or how heroic he is—"

"Creevey," Draco growled. "Sit down and shut the door so we can leave. That wind is freezing."

"Right-o!" the squirrelly lad obeyed and plunked himself down next to Ginevra. "I can't believe it! I've never ridden in one of Hogwarts' carriages before!"

Luna held her cork necklace close to her face and examined it lovingly. "Is that so. It appears that you are about ready, then."

Creevey was midway through another nodding frenzy when Draco stood up and opened the window at the front of the cab.

"Hey! What's the big idea?" Ginevra squealed as she huddled into her threadbare winter cloak.

"Just tipping our drivers," Draco said carelessly, fetching a ball of something shiny and dark from his luggage. He broke the mysterious morsel in two, held each half as far outside the cab as he could reach, and reappeared empty-handed with a shiver of exhilaration. "What do you know? They took them, Luna! These carriages really are pulled by those thestrals."

Luna's face had gone quite blank. "Draco. Was it black liquorice you fed them just now?"

"Sure. Why not?"

An unearthly whinny pealed through the frigid air, forcing them all to cover their ears. With a deafening flap of unseen wings, the carriage hurtled sideways into the air like a loose bludger and was gone.

* * *

The December sun was sinking beneath the horizon when the carriage finally landed at its destination, crashing rather spectacularly onto the dirt road near the train station. Its black roof and weather-beaten sides were punctured in some places and simply missing in others. Both lanterns on the front were smashed. One of the front wheels had been dislodged somewhere in the Forbidden Forest.

The invisible thestrals nickered irritably to each other and stamped their hooves. A moment later one of the side doors opened and four small bodies spilled, rather than emerged, into the crystalline snow before a crowd of gawking onlookers.

Luna was the first to rise, smoothing down her disheveled blonde waves and admonishing her friend with a clucking noise.

"As I was about to say, Draco," she said, the tone of her voice quite unchanged, "there is no food a thestral hates more than black liquorice. They much prefer raw meat or liver."

The taller wizard groaned in reply, still face-down on the road.

Ginevra tried to rise and fell immediately to her knees, giggling somewhat hysterically as she tried to regain her bearings. "Good thing someone thought to cast cushioning charms on the insides of those things, wasn't it?"

"Quite. The Hogwarts staff has seen it all, I'm sure."

"Mmf ffffthrr wuh hrrr aburr thurrrs," Draco said, before spitting out a mouthful of slush.

Luna tested her limbs before skipping over and helping him gingerly to his feet. "Oh, yes. They'll be sending him the bill for that carriage, I expect."

Draco growled assent, ignoring a high-pitched wheeze from Creevey whose legs were sticking out from a nearby snowbank. "And he'll be sending _them_ an order to have those wretched creatures destroyed, I shouldn't wonder. Just wait 'til I tell him—"

"No!" the diminutive witch immediately stepped back from him as the thestrals whinnied nervously. "You'll do no such thing, Draco!"

He stumbled and nearly lost his balance. "Are you mad? That was the carriage ride from hell! We're lucky to be alive right now! A Malfoy deserves perfect service and that was deplorable. I _will_ have those monsters dealt with, just you wait."

"Not if you want to stay friends with me, you won't."

Ginevra stared up at them goggle-eyed: Draco, green about the gills from their madcap ride in the sky, standing across from her best friend who had her hands clenched at her sides and her face pink with fury. As long as they'd known each other, she had never seen Luna so angry.

Draco must have realised the same thing. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. "That's not fair, Luna."

"Oh, no? And what of executing two magical creatures for nothing more than mussing your robes? Would that be fair? Was it fair when the Ministry killed a whole herd of them because one man was hurt? Your position does not give _you_ the right to decide who lives and dies! If that's what you think then you might as well join the man in the mirror, for I'll have nothing more to do with you."

Draco stood still with his eyes on the ground. Pain rose in his heart and spilled over, and he would say nothing more until they boarded the train.

"You didn't have to say it like _that,_ Luna," Ginevra whispered. But the other girl merely stared off into the distance, as if she'd been reminded of something unpleasant.

A feeble squeak of terror notified them that Colin Creevey was still half-buried in the snowbank. Ginevra grabbed his ankle with both hands and pulled him out. He looked up at them through glazed eyes.

"Are we dead?" he said through chattering teeth. "Is this heaven?"

"What's heaven?"

"Never mind, Ginevra. Muggle thing," Creevey shivered. With numbing fingers he checked his camera, which miraculously still worked. He centred the three faces leaning over him in the frozen gloom—one carefully blank with pained eyes, the second grim and distracted, the third looking into the lens with a mix of amusement and worry—and clicked the shutter.

Draco was on autopilot as he smoothed things over with the Hogsmeade authorities and gave them his father's name. They owled a few quick letters to explain the delay to Xeno and Lucius and boarded the last train out of town, where Creevey got away from them as quickly as possible, and enjoyed a compartment all to themselves. Or it would have been enjoyable, if not for the oppressive silence. It loomed over them for what felt like an eternity, Draco sitting across from them by the window, Luna looking away from him into space, on and on until Ginevra thought she might scream. In reality it was only fifteen minutes into the ride when Luna's eyes cleared a bit and she spoke.

"Draco. I want to apologise."

 _"Please,_ don't trouble yourself," Draco spat disingenuously.

"I was wrong."

"No matter. Already forgotten. Nice weather, isn't it?"

"I said a thing to you I did not mean."

Finally he turned back from the window and showed his face. His lower lip was trembling. If it were any of his other friends in Slytherin sitting there he would be attacking, guilt-tripping, manipulating. But he was so much closer with Luna than with any of them, and only now did he realise how vulnerable it left him. He hated it. "It's so easy for you, isn't it—knowing what you mean to me—to speak of throwing me aside for a few bloody thestrals. Little Luna Lovegood, floating around in her own special world where magical creatures are more important than humans. Well, those precious creatures of yours might have killed us today if not for the cushioning charms!"

Luna responded to the most sincere part of his statement, disregarding the rest. "You mean very much to me, also. I would not abandon you over thestrals."

He threw up his hands. "Then why did you say it?"

"Because it was not you I was thinking of, but something else. A thing that frightened me when I was younger. Every time I hear talk of magical creatures being killed ... "

Draco waited for her to say more, but she leaned back and closed her eyes. He felt his anger drain away gradually, until he could trust himself to speak calmly again. "Was it that Ministry business you mentioned?"

She nodded. "Yes. The Ministry was there. The man in the two-way mirror, as well."

Ginevra leaned forward, her heart beginning to race. Luna had told her this story before, once, and just thinking about it gave her the chills. "You're sure, Luna? _That_ man was the one hanging around Sister's neck a few weeks ago?"

"I was not sure at first. Now that I recall his voice, I am almost positive."

"Tell me," Draco insisted.

Luna seemed to need support. Ginevra offered it immediately, placing an arm around her shoulders as the other witch leaned against her and began.

"It's a great wizarding naturalist my daddy is, and so was mummy when she was alive. They explored many faraway places together to find new species. But they did not always work alone. When I was younger, and the Ministry's Department of Magical Creatures would organise expeditions, sometimes they brought my parents along as experts. I always wanted to go with them on those trips, but they made me stay with the Weasleys instead. Remember, Ginevra?"

"I sure do," the redhead smiled sympathetically. "Our house was always too crowded and my brothers made fun of you. We spent most of the time outside playing Quidditch and chasing gnomes."

"When I was eight, mummy and daddy finally let me go along on one of their official trips," Luna continued, her eyes dancing with excitement at the memory. "I was happy as a dabberblimp in a plum tree! We were going to South Africa, to observe one of the last big erumpent herds in their natural environment. They have been endangered for so long, you see. We studied them for days. Daddy still has some of the photographs we took.

"Then something awful happened. One day when most of the group was away at supper, two of the Ministry explorers were drinking quite a bit and started duelling each other. They were far too close to the animals. Before I knew it one of the erumpents was hit by a stray spell, and he panicked and charged. One of the workers was badly hurt, and everyone was quite upset. I was eating outside, and saw the whole thing. I tried to tell them it wasn't the erumpent's fault. But they didn't listen. They said the expedition was over, and then another man from the Ministry came there. He was a horrible man, all dressed in black with a hollow face, and he sent us away. It was never reported in the news. But mummy and daddy found out that after he arrived, all the erumpents in the herd were killed. Every one."

Draco didn't want to challenge her memory of an incident that he'd never witnessed, but he knew that the Lovegoods' perceptions could be rather skewed. "Are you sure of what you saw, Luna? I'm not saying you're wrong, mind, but you know that erumpents can be extremely dangerous. They're classified 4-X by the Ministry, you know, and if I had a sickle for every article I've read about them trying to trample or gore a wizard ... "

"That's just it, Draco," Ginevra said in a low voice. _"Where_ did you read all of those articles?"

"Well, in the _Prophet,_ I suppose."

"And the _Prophet_ has been in the Ministry's pocket forever. My father knows a thing or two about magical creatures himself, and there's no evidence that an erumpent's ever attacked a wizard unprovoked. Or that they blow each other up on accident. The Ministry wants to make them look dangerous and stupid so the public won't mind the government hunting them."

"It's all a plot by the Ministry so they can harvest their horns," added Luna. "Just as daddy has said in _The Quibbler."_

Draco had to admit that was a clever strategy, if true. The horn of an erumpent contained one of the most explosive substances in nature, the sort of weapon any government would love to have a supply of. (In fact, You-Know-Who had stolen some from the Ministry and used it to great effect during the Wizarding War.) What better way to make this acceptable than to tell the public they were dumb animals who were all going to blow each other up anyway?

"Mummy started investigating that man after we came back. She learned he was once a Death Eater, who claimed the Imperius Curse to stay out of Azkaban after his master's defeat." Luna paused, and there was an awkward moment while both girls studiously avoided looking at Draco, whose father was famously acquitted by the Wizengamot with the very same defense. "Then ... well ... the accident happened, and mummy was gone. After that I never heard anything more about it. But when Sister came upon us in the bathroom ... I could not see his face in the mirror, but I remembered his voice. And I could tell that he remembered me."

Draco felt a bad case of heartburn coming on. A former Death Eater in the government, controlling Selwyn and helping Sister attack students? It was even worse than he feared. More than one of You-Know-Who's exonerated followers had slipped into the Ministry during the postwar years, using good behaviour or philanthropy to stay above suspicion. His own father was one of them. If such a man were coming after them, and knew who they were ...

"We must talk to my father," Draco told Luna. "And yours. Soon."

"Yes, Draco. I think that is best."

She nodded off to sleep a few minutes later. Draco looked past her at Ginevra. She looked back at him, hair flaming red and then auburn, freckles visible and then not as the lamplight flickered around them.

"I can't believe that really might be the same man," she said wonderingly. "Those poor erumpents."

"Forget the erumpents, poor us. If it's him, he's already tried to kill us once," he told her, sounding much more relaxed than he felt at the moment.

"That's what I don't understand. I mean ... I'm not trying to pick a fight with you now, but your father was a Death Eater. Just like him."

Draco's body went stiff. The look on his face would have made a thestral nervous.

"A pretty tight group, weren't they? He and your dad were probably mates, or at least knew each other well. So why would this nutter try to kill his friend's kid? Why not just me and Luna?"

"Perhaps he doesn't know who I am," Draco said sourly.

"Rubbish! Even if he didn't know before, Selwyn must have told him."

Draco bit his lip. Yes, he thought. Selwyn must have.

"And this Death Eater serves the Heir, just like Selwyn. He said so himself. And because Sister can only be given orders with that diary, the Heir must be Tom himself. Right?"

Once again, he thought to himself, this girl should have been a Slytherin. "That makes sense ... "

"So just how powerful a wizard is the _ghost_ of Tom Riddle," Ginevra said in a hushed voice. She was beginning to look rather stiff and frightened herself. "If this Death Eater is willing to go that far on his word?"

Draco actually felt the blood drain from his face.

"I need to get some air," he said unconvincingly, stumbling as he made his way to the door.

"Who's the one wizard all Death Eaters obey no matter what, Draco?" she said in a shaking whisper. "The man they would kill _each other_ for, if they had to?"

Draco did not reply. Instead he did something that, for the rest of his life, he would vehemently deny had ever happened.

He fainted.

* * *

"If it is not my old friend Lucius Malfoy, come to see me again," said Albus Dumbledore. "What is it, the third time in as many months? No matter. Welcome to my office; I wish you a Happy Christmas."

Lucius bowed low. "And I you, Headmaster. Thank you. Unfortunately, I bear news that is anything but cheery."

Dumbledore closed his eyes and opened them again. He seemed to have been anticipating this. "Oh?"

The dark wizard cut an impressive figure as he stalked closer to the great man's desk. "The Board of Governors concluded its final conference of the year some days ago, though we chose not to reveal our decision until the day after most of your students departed for reasons of ... discretion. We have made every effort to stand behind you through these difficult times. However, new information has been made available to us, quite apart from the legilimency allegations, that we consider deeply troubling. We can only conclude that you have displayed an alarming lack of oversight and responsibility in your duty to protect these children. The Board has it on good authority, as does the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, that you retained a Defence Against the Dark Arts professor by the name of Quirinus Quirrell, who was—"

"Who was possessed by Voldemort?" Dumbledore interrupted uncharacteristically. Even now he was one of few people willing to speak the man's name.

Lucius looked a tad peaked, but he recovered himself quickly. Given what his own son witnessed in the Forbidden Forest and the business with Tom Riddle's diary, he was not so quick to dismiss the rumours about Quirrell as he had been. Still, he wouldn't give Dumbledore the satisfaction of admitting it. "Who was obviously _mentally ill,_ hopelessly incompetent to teach his assigned subject, a bank robber, and a conniver who attempted to steal the Philosopher's Stone ... does that about cover it? Do correct me if I've left anything out."

"He also took far too many lemon drops from my dish during his visits to my office," the old wizard added. "Which, thankfully, were rare."

"Noted. This brings us to the Philosopher's Stone itself: prior to its destruction a priceless and highly sought-after artefact with the power to create the Elixir of Eternal Life and produce limitless gold, which you chose to conceal in a _school,_ placing hundreds of students at great unnecessary risk without once consulting any of us on the Board. More embarrassing still, your security measures were sufficiently puerile that three students—all first-years, two of whom are noted discipline cases—managed to circumvent all of them at roughly the same time as the thief, where one Mr. Potter confronted him and could have quite easily been killed."

Dumbledore seemed determined to push his buttons. "I did not know you worried so much about Harry, Lucius. But he has a remarkable talent for surviving, as you remember quite well."

Lucius refused to be sidetracked. "I am glad you mention this, Professor, for that is yet another issue. The result of this confrontation was a struggle which resulted in Quirrell's _death._ The autopsy, when your infirmary did get round to releasing the body, revealed severe malnutrition as well as diminished magical capabilities, and extensive third-degree burns which you still have not explained to the satisfaction of any reasonable person."

"I made it eminently clear that those wounds were caused by him touching Harry with the intent to do harm, thereby activating the magical protection imbued in him by his mother's sacrifice."

"Pseudomagic, Professor," Lucius said darkly. "That is nonsensical melodrama. Why should the boy receive such protection when millions of orphaned children throughout history have not? Moreover, young Mr. Potter now has to live with the knowledge that he was forced to effectively kill in self-defence because none of the authorities responsible for his safety, yourself included, were there to intervene before Quirrell's wounds became fatal. These missteps constitute breaches of trust that are altogether too much to ignore. It is therefore the decision of the Hogwarts Board of Governors to issue an Order of Suspension. You shall find all twelve signatures upon it."

He produced a long scroll from inside his black robe, which he unrolled with a flourish.

"A bold decision, Lucius," Dumbledore said as he examined the damning parchment. Finally some fire had entered his blue eyes. "And a risky one, considering the Ministry's investigation is still ongoing."

"As it shall be for some time, I believe. At any rate the appointment or suspension of a Headmaster is one for the Board to decide independently. Though it pains us greatly to have to take such a drastic step, we believe it is for the best."

"You say that you know these things 'on good authority.' Might I ask whose?"

"The person in question is a witness for the DMLE. The identities of all such persons are to remain confidential."

A corner of Dumbledore's mouth twitched. He folded his hands.

"If the governors want my removal, then I shall of course step aside," he said calmly. "However, I think you will find that I have only truly left this school when none here are loyal to me."

"Loyalty is an admirable virtue, Professor," said Lucius. His eyes flickered ever so briefly to his left forearm, where a telltale mark still lingered. "However, there are times when it becomes impractical, even untenable. A lesson we all must learn."

"You propose to advise me on matters of virtue, Lucius?"

Again the war. He very nearly lost his temper that time, but he pictured Narcissa and Draco's faces in his mind and the moment passed. The last ten years had strengthened him, that was apparent. His wife and son were restless, seeking change, wishing to relax the ironclad social standards by which generations of his family had defined a whole era of magical history. He didn't like it, not at all. His father would have liked it even less; how on earth was Lucius going to explain all this to him when he next visited? But, if only for them, he was willing to entertain the possibility of reform.

Dumbledore was the one stuck in the mud now. He was the one who needed to change his approach before the rising seas of progress swallowed him up. But who was going to tell him that?

"I propose that you vacate the premises by the end of the year as ordered," he said, calm but unable to hide the vast personal satisfaction he felt in this moment. "And that you cede authority to your Deputy Headmistress as required by the statutes. Good day."

He swept out of the office with Fawkes screeching angrily after him.

* * *

"Here we are!" Narcissa Malfoy announced with forced cheer. "What do you think, Luna? If you would rather not stay ... "

"I will surely let you know," the eccentric witch replied in her usual singsong voice, but the look she sent her friend's mother was quick and sharp.

Xenophilius was equally fascinated with their surroundings. "Why, what an extraordinary shop! I do believe we could spend all afternoon here. Their collection of magical creature hides alone must be enormous!"

Their escort pursed her lips and conceded defeat. She'd been subtly trying to dissuade the Lovegoods from visiting here, but Luna had wanted to go ever since Draco told her about it and considering what she knew about Tom Riddle's true identity ... Narcissa was hardly in a position to refuse her. For such a young and seemingly disconnected girl, she knew how to get her way, even from her willful son and that stubborn Ginevra Weasley. She had just returned from school with them last evening and was already calling the shots; Draco and Ginevra were quite nervous at first, as if something were eating at them, but Luna took them aside and steadied their nerves with a single conversation.

"There is a time and a place for your concerns," were the only words Narcissa managed to overhear. "And this is neither. Let us get settled first."

Perhaps she honed her social skills by keeping her father under control—a skill that would no doubt be needed here.

A widely known (and, by the Light, feared) curio shop in the dark heart of Knockturn Alley, Borgin and Burke's was a place Luna took to almost immediately. Proprietor Borgin, an unctuous little creature peering nosily at them from behind the counter, made no effort to hide the fact that this was an establishment of the Dark Arts. Strange rusted instruments and a vast network of spiderwebs hung from the ceiling, glimmering in the candlelight and draping threateningly down towards black wooden shelves stocked with the strangest wares one was ever likely to see. Here was a goblin skull that screeched angrily in Gobbledygook when touched, there the shattered pieces of a twisted black wand preserved in a jar of what looked like purple syrup, behind the counter a row of cauldrons that boiled and churned with any number of foul-smelling potions and poisons, and on the walls a vast assortment of leering ceremonial masks.

Narcissa hated it here. She was no babe in the woods when it came to dark magic, but it was Lucius and Draco who harboured a real passion for it, and apparently so did Luna. She danced her way through the room as comfortably as if it were a field of daisies and asked about everything that caught her eye.

"Would you tell me what this is, Mrs. Malfoy?"

She peered closer at the shelf, wrinkling her nose. "Those are the gills of a merperson. They are a key ingredient in potions that allow one to breathe underwater, though now it is considered more humane to use a bubble-head charm."

"And this is a bezoar, isn't it? Those will save you from most poisons."

"I see you've been paying attention in Severus' class."

Luna nodded. "Ginevra and I are very good together in potions. I hear Professor Dumbledore's brother keeps goats, and makes a lot of money supplying Hogwarts with bezoars. I imagine taking them out of of the goats must be unpleasant. And what is this thing, Mrs. Malfoy?"

Narcissa took a closer look at a sickly-green chalice inlaid with dull yellow gems. "That is the Cup of Death. When properly enchanted, the jewels set into it will secrete poison into any drink it is filled with. It was created by a patriarch of the Gaunt family to dispose of his less favoured dinner guests. We certainly will _not_ be buying that."

"That's fine, I don't need to poison anyone," Luna said lightly. "'Tis a good thing they've put it next to the bezoars, I suppose."

"No doubt."

Xeno had been poking around since they arrived, picking up and examining any number of dangerous-looking animal remains while Luna interjected with a "mummy wouldn't want you buying that, daddy", then "that's far too sharp to be a _real_ snorkack's horn, daddy", and finally a plain "put that down, daddy." Still keeping one eye on her father Luna reached the end of the last shelf empty-handed, looking for just the perfect thing ... and there, upon a dusty mantelpiece at the wall, was a blackened and shrunken human hand resting on a cushion.

"Hullo," she whispered to the grisly thing as she walked up to get a closer look. "And what might you be?"

She reached out to touch it.

The hand moved first, reaching out and snatching hers.

"Luna!" Narcissa gasped. She rushed over to help, but to her consternation the girl was _laughing._ She lifted the hand from the cushion and shook it playfully.

"A pleasure to meet you as well, sir! My daddy always told me one should have a good, strong handshake. Oh yes, I think you and I shall get on quite well indeed."

"My, my! She's certainly taken a liking to you," observed old oily-haired Borgin as he limped out from behind the counter. He channeled a little magical energy into his gnarled wand and tapped the hand aggressively, making it release Luna and fall back to the cushion. "Down, Gloria!"

"It was a she?" Luna said curiously, still poking and prodding at the hand as it twitched irritably.

Borgin smiled. "Indeed, miss. And I see that her taste in customers is every bit as good as your taste in merchandise, for this is the Hand of Glory! Made from the remains of a famous jewel thief, you see. Insert a candle and she gives light only to the holder. She's quite _handy_ with locks as well ... " Luna giggled explosively at this, though it wasn't the least bit funny. " ... If you'll pardon the joke. Best friend to thieves and plunderers everywhere!"

"Or to those who simply need a light in the dark," Luna said, smiling.

"That is quite all right, Mr. Borgin," Narcissa said shortly. "I am sure Miss Lovegood here shall have no need for—"

"We will take it," chirped Luna.

Gritting her teeth, Narcissa asked Borgin to excuse them and looked threateningly down her nose at Luna. "Young lady, if you think for one moment that I am going to buy you this ... "

"Remember the promise you made in your letter, Mrs. Malfoy," Luna said, gazing solemnly into her eyes. "I can use this to protect your son. And that is what we both want, isn't it?"

The lady felt a headache coming on. Lucius would surely be unhappy about this, but she was between a rock and a hard place.

Still ... the children had retrieved the diary. Dumbledore would soon be out of their way. Selwyn was no longer a threat. The Weasley girl was still on their side. Draco told her Blaise Zabini was safe and keeping quiet about what happened to him. And with the diary in their possession once again, the only person who could open the Chamber of Secrets now was the parselmouthed Harry Potter—and he didn't even know where it was.

So why was Luna twisting her arm for a dark artifact just to protect Draco? Was that an uncharacteristic fib, or could it be that she was still anticipating trouble?

"Zounds!" Xeno cried from across the room. "Darling, come and look at what they have here. _Gnome saliva!"_

"Show me, daddy!" Luna said excitedly, and rushed over to join him.

Levitating the Hand of Glory with her wand so she didn't have to touch it, Narcissa went up to the counter to make the purchase. But her concerns preyed on her mind as they Floo'd back to Diagon Alley, visited Flourish and Blott's where Xeno bought several books on cryptomagizoology, and walked over to the Three Broomsticks for a quick lunch.

"Luna," she said quietly when Xeno got up to use the lavatory. "You must realise that no one can open the Chamber anymore. The basilisk is stuck there, and the return of You-Know-Who is not something we need worry about for a long time, if ever. Why are you still troubled?"

Luna did not answer. She gave Narcissa an appraising look and fingered her necklace.

"We are on your side. We have done everything we could to help you and Draco, more than we were even comfortable doing, especially my husband. But we have done our part and will continue to do so. If there is something else you have not told us, you cannot help anyone by keeping it a secret."

A few more seconds passed. Luna took a long sip of her water.

"I wonder," she said whimsically, "who the Ministry would send to take care of the problem, if they found out the basilisk was down there."

Narcissa frowned, unsure what that had to do with the discussion. "The Ministry, instead of the faculty? I imagine they would send their Chief Executioner from the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, or the DMC for short."

"Oh, my. How very interesting. And who _is_ the Chief Executioner for the DMC? I fear I cannot quite remember his name."

"A man named Walden Macnair. He is quite good at the job, by all accounts, and an old friend of Lucius." And with an appetite for violence and killing that was excessive even for a Death Eater, she reflected, but Luna didn't need to know that. Suffice it to say his postwar vocation came as a shock to no one.

"An old friend, you say," Luna leaned forward, elbows on the table with her chin in her hands. "Suppose that dear Mr. Macnair knows about the diary and what it can do. Suppose he was helping Sister and the Heir to attack muggleborn students, but he failed. It would be so easy for him, wouldn't it, to sneak into Hogwarts over the holidays, enter the Chamber, and execute Sister? Without her, you see, there would be no evidence."

Narcissa blinked. Now she noticed the haunted look about Luna's eyes. They were the eyes of a very clever but very frightened child, who had lain awake for most of last night piecing together such a dark scenario in her mind. But ... no. Walden hated muggleborns like all those who once followed the Dark Lord, but he would never involve himself in something like this if it meant targeting their own _son._

Unless, said the motherly little voice in the back of her mind that always thought in worst-case scenarios, Walden knew that the spirit in the diary was a young imprint of the Dark Lord himself. To follow him again, the man might do almost anything.

"I'm sure you're mistaken, Luna," Narcissa said gently, but she wasn't sure herself. "And even if that were true, Mr. Macnair would have no way to enter the Chamber of Secrets."

"He would," Luna whispered, leaning forward over the table now as if willing the lady to believe her. "If he got the diary back. Say, if he came into Malfoy Manor during the raid?"

Narcissa felt her skin begin to crawl.

"Just to be safe, Mrs. Malfoy, I would hide that diary in a place that not even an 'old friend of Lucius' could find it."

"I'll speak to my husband about it if that will make you feel better. But I think you are worrying yourself into a state over nothing. I assure you Mr. Macnair will _not_ be involved in that raid."

Luna stood up from her chair and walked to the other side of the table, hugging the older witch with all her strength. Narcissa was shocked, but momentarily returned the embrace. She could feel the girl shaking all over.

When she spoke again, she sounded small and tired. "You must believe me. Or everything we have done so far is for nothing."

"It is not that I don't believe you," Narcissa said unconvincingly. "It is only that ... "

Luna suddenly looked up into her face. "Mrs. Malfoy! I cannot believe I didn't think of it sooner. Wrackspurts must have gotten me. I have an idea."

"And what might that be?"

Luna stepped back, hands placed confidently on her hips. The wonder was back in her eyes. It was as though her moment of weakness had never happened.

"Tell me," she said. "Do the Malfoys own a pensieve?"


	19. Illegally Blond

_A/N: This is a milestone for me. Until now the longest story I ever wrote was 140,000 words. With this chapter, 'Crazy Like a Snake' will surpass that. It's not a perfect work; I don't even claim that it's good. But after a year-long bout of writer's block, working on this and reading your feedback have done a lot to restore my confidence. Thank you all. :)_

 _As you know, characters who were protagonists in canon because they were friendly toward Harry (such as Dumbledore) are perceived very differently by the Malfoys. This chapter will see the introduction of one such character, as well as a scene I've very much been looking forward to: Harry and Ron's polyjuice escapade. Even in canon, it did not go according to plan; I can only imagine what will happen in this version! xD_

* * *

Sunset Whispers: _If you knew something that you had no way to prove, other than allowing someone else to see and hear what you did ... what could be better for that than a pensieve? When I said that Xeno's perspective would be as close as we'd ever come to seeing through Luna's eyes ... I just might have been lying. :)_

Orbital Puca: _Thanks for your feedback! The Scrawl is one of my favourite parts of the story and, as Frye is still learning and growing as a journalist, I think his best is yet to come._

ghostcrab311: _Adults rarely listen to children. But Luna has made a strong impression on the Malfoys thus far. I think she's earned their respect by putting one over on them, if nothing else, and that's half the battle. Let's see if she can make them believe her._

Qinlongfei: _Much appreciated. It was never my intention to make Ron the "butt monkey" of the story, but when you pointed out his characterisation earlier I realised he might be slipping into that role anyway. I think he will continue to try getting along with Ginevra for the good of the family, not knowing_ — _or even wanting to know_ — _how deeply involved she is with the snakes._

kirbyfan1996: _It would be interesting to take this story as far into the future as you're suggesting. I have some tentative plans for a sequel about Year 3 and the Sirius/Remus arc, so we'll see how it goes. I like the idea that one small alteration can ripple outward and have wide-ranging consequences._

* * *

 **Chapter XIX: Illegally Blond**

In a brief flash, with a _pop_ that rang off the walls of the opulent sitting-room, Richard Selwyn appeared. He rubbed the side of his head and waited for the nausea to pass, both signs of a wizard new to apparating, and nervously examined his surroundings. Uncomfortable antique furnishings and depressing bronze-coloured wallpaper made his master's dwelling a gloomy place indeed. So dull was most of the interior that the eye was immediately drawn to its only remarkable feature: a neatly arranged row of stuffed and mounted animal heads staring blankly at him from the wall. A hippogriff here, an erumpent there, directly above him a grindylow ... just to name a few.

The display did little to abate Selwyn's queasiness. He chose to study the ancient rug instead. He didn't want to be here, not at such a difficult time; he'd found himself in enough trouble lately. But it had to be done, his master insisted, to best serve the Dark Lord. And of course he was right. Why couldn't his mother and father understand? He was sure they would be proud of him. Instead they'd _grounded_ him, holding him prisoner in his own house! Blamed him for their public falling out with the Malfoys, when it was all Draco's fault for betraying the cause!

Weeks had passed before Selwyn finally had a chance to apparate out of the house unnoticed and visit his mentor. One day his parents would know this was all for the best. He was doing it for them, picking up the lance they were forced to put down eleven years ago. Taking all the lessons they taught him and putting them into practise. It was the duty of all loyal pure-blood families to pave the way for the Dark Lord's eventual return so that the wizarding world could one day be cleansed. To succeed he must first cleanse himself—of all doubts, all weakness, and all sympathy for mudblood filth. One day the world would thank him for this.

The doors to the parlour opened, and in he walked: a tall, slender, and muscular man, middle-aged with lank dark hair and a thin moustache. Time had set grim lines into his face and bags under his deep-set eyes. His grey dress robes were decorated with silver filigree around the collar and sleeves.

"Selwyn," he said curtly, as the student suppressed a shudder at hearing his cold and pitiless voice in person. "I see you've managed to arrive on time for once."

"Yes, sir."

"Surely you do not expect this to make up for your numerous disappointments."

Selwyn kept his head down. "No, sir. But if you'll permit me to—"

"I set you a goal, Selwyn," the dark wizard continued, cutting him off. "Out of respect for your zeal, and your ... _limited_ potential, to see if you could be useful. A simple goal. And you have failed ignominiously. Four months, a two-way mirror, an agreement with the Heir of Slytherin—a shade of the Dark Lord himself—and not a single casualty inflicted on those little vermin. Worse, you were caught disciplining the Malfoy brat, and in your absence he has undoubtedly caught the host and returned the diary to his parents."

"That's what I don't understand, sir! How could the Malfoys betray us like this? Consorting with riffraff, turning Slytherin house against our ideals ... you said they would help us!"

"Wrong. I said they could be a means to an end, but their ignorance made them a liability. If the Dark Lord had informed Lord Malfoy of the diary's true nature before it was given to him, then perhaps ... well, it is not for us to second-guess his decisions. I alone was trusted with that secret." His features twisted into a glare. "That should have been enough. It _would_ have been enough, if not for your incompetence. Now you have bungled a plan over ten years in the making. The Malfoys will be dealt with soon enough. But for now, it is your turn."

The prefect took a shaky step back. "No, sir, please. "

"Had you simply kept your wits about you, we could have cleared the way for the cleansing of Hogwarts without anyone discovering our involvement. Instead you were caught, and we have lost the support of the most powerful pure-blood clan in magical Britain. Have you any notion what a loss that will be for the Dark Lord when he returns? It will have been all your fault, Selwyn! And he will know it!"

"No!" Selwyn cried, throwing himself at the man's feet. "Lord Macnair, I implore you—"

"My intervention won't save you from his wrath, boy! Not unless you fully redeem yourself. A process that shall begin here and now." Macnair's lip twitched in anticipation as he aimed his wand at the cowering student. _"Crucio."_

The eyes of the animals stared blankly down at them, oblivious to Selwyn's tortured screams.

* * *

Marietta Edgecombe was not enjoying her first week of holiday break. For one thing she'd expected to be home by now, prying the latest political gossip out of her mother over a bowl of hot punch, but those plans had recently changed. She also thought that doing favours for her latest friend would be both fun and profitable, but his major superiority complex and incorrigible behaviour when things didn't go his way made him difficult company sometimes.

Honestly, Marietta was disappointed too. Telling the Weasley girl about the Malfoy boy's betrayal _should have_ broken whatever friendship they had into a thousand pieces. She _should have_ gone straight to her parents and told them what he did, disgracing his family in the process. But she hadn't. Marietta's new friend must have greatly underestimated how close the little pest was to Malfoy and Lovegood. Now, while those brats headed home for the holidays, Marietta was ordered to remain at Hogwarts—not without financial compensation of course—and help to plan their next move.

She had never liked following orders. Why should she? It was obvious to Marietta that she was the best and most important person at Hogwarts, whether anybody else acknowledged it or not. But that would come eventually. Her first step towards that goal had been to involve herself in social circles where she could drop the veneer of giggling foolishness that first got her accepted and her half-blood status was actually good for something; the next step would be proving her worth in those circles.

"Marietta," her friend growled from the other side of the library table. "Concentrate."

"I am concentrating," she insisted, returning her attention to the massive tome on magical sociopolitics. As ordered she was researching any possible grounds on which a weaker pure-blood family could officially challenge a stronger one, and found them extremely shaky. "I don't understand why we have to go to all this trouble. Can't we just charge them with insufficient loyalty to You-Know-Who and leave it at that?"

"Not exactly. The Dark Lord was never officially acknowledged as our leader. He was a criminal. Most of us were smart enough to keep our dealings with him secret, or at least produce evidence that we followed him against our will. How do you think Malfoy's father stayed out of Azkaban? Or mine, for that matter?"

Marietta rubbed her forehead wearily. "I didn't know it could be this much trouble to label a family 'blood traitors'."

"Whoever tells you it's easy is an idiot. Everyone gossips about everyone else, my father says, but it takes a real bunch of dunderheads to disgrace themselves so badly the other noble families can just cast them aside. Like the Prewetts, or the Weasleys. The Malfoys aren't stupid enough to give us an excuse. That's why we need to come up with one ourselves."

"I thought your family friend in the Ministry was taking care of that! You know, having them raided and all? Merlin knows my mother did her part, getting that Muggle Protection Act signed into law. And you're still making me stay here through Christmas?!"

"Just because he's helping us doesn't mean we get to sit on our duffs and do nothing. Know your place, Marietta!"

Inside she boiled with resentment, but on the outside she demurely lowered her head. "My apologies, _Lord."_

"We need a backup plan just in case his doesn't work. My role is to be ready for whatever comes next, and your role is to assist me in that. Now keep reading."

* * *

Ancient Runes comprised a branch of magic seldom practised and poorly understood by a great many modern wizards. In an era when anyone could buy a wand for six to eight galleons and begin casting immediately, runes were an anachronism: highly theoretical, cumbersome, and difficult to learn. If drawn with an expert hand they could hold up much longer than standard enchantments, but most wizards were unwilling to put in the time or effort required to reach that point.

Then again, most wizards were not the Lovegoods or the Weasleys. Xeno had aced the subject during his years at Hogwarts and went on to regularly publish runic texts in The Quibbler, passing on his appreciation for them to his daughter. Ginevra's oldest brother Bill, as a renowned curse-breaker, was also an expert in the field and never tired of discussing it when he visited home. Few of his siblings could sit through more than a few minutes of this without getting bored, but Ginevra and Percy would listen with rapt attention long after the dinner dishes were washed and their parents retired for the evening. To this day it was one of few subjects she and Percy could discuss without fighting.

The Malfoys did not share this interest, and were consequently baffled as Luna and Ginevra spent minutes exclaiming over the beauty of the runes inscribed on their family pensieve. Bitsy, who had brought them the relic (along with a blood pudding no one asked for, to Narcissa's great confusion), listened with amusement. Lucius repeatedly warned them not to touch the intricately carved bowl, while Narcissa and Draco tried in vain to follow their excited conversation about the apparently famous runemaster who crafted it until they were mercifully interrupted by Xeno.

"Pumpkin? Though I enjoy an authentic Gleison Tiburcio quite as much as you, we should move on to the business at hand."

"A request that I hesitate to grant you at all," Lucius added skeptically. "This pensieve is no museum piece. It is an obscenely valuable tool used to preserve generations' worth of our family's most important memories."

Ginevra sobered and stared at the bowl with new interest. Luna bowed and apologised.

"Forgive me, daddy, and Mr. Malfoy. I fear we suffered a brief wrackspurt attack, but we are all right now. Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, are you a _legilimens?_ "

"Naturally," the dapper lord answered her. "Not quite as skilled as your headmaster, perhaps ... "

"Our former headmaster, you mean," Draco said proudly. "I always knew you'd have him drummed out one day, father!"

Lucius ruffled the boy's hair in a rare show of affection, drawing a squeal of protest as Draco ran to the mirror to smooth it down again. "It became necessary to ensure your safety. Fortunately I was provided with certain information that allowed me to secure the Board's cooperation."

"Information from who?" Ginevra said, grimacing as she was reminded of that whole mess. She couldn't remember ever feeling so conflicted. Albus Dumbledore's actions had shaken her trust in him; that and other things did a lot to bring out her latent interest in the Dark Arts and by extension Draco. The Malfoys weren't cackling villains like the dark wizards she read about in her books. They were a real family that loved each other and believed in what they were doing. But Dumbledore had always treated the Weasleys with the utmost kindness and part of her hated to see him go, especially because someone in the know had betrayed him to his enemies.

"That is confidential, I'm afraid. As I was saying, Luna, I am not unaccomplished in the field of legilimency."

The girl clasped her hands earnestly in front of her. "It's very glad I am to hear that, Mr. Malfoy. For I need you to take out some of my memories and see them for yourself."

Lucius frowned, hesitating. "Has this anything to do with your theory that one of my former colleagues has betrayed me? I spoke with my wife earlier."

"Yes, sir. I know that what I saw will prove it to you."

He drummed his fingers nervously on the head of his cane. It was no small thing to extract memories from another's mind, especially a child's. Luna was flighty and sometimes irrational, but even she would not place this much trust in him unless she was certain of what she'd witnessed. He looked around at the assembled group and saw Xeno shaking his head.

"No, darling. You need not do this. If Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy are not prepared to take your word ... "

"Their friend works in the Ministry, daddy. They need to be sure."

Xeno was firm. "Luna. Your mind is your own."

"To offer to whom I will," she replied patiently, pressing his hand between each of hers. "I trust Draco and his family. We have a powerful enemy. If I do not do this, there is no way we can win."

"Your mother would not want this."

"She would if it meant putting 'Bagnold's Butcher' in Azkaban."

Her father started, wild white hair flying about his thin shoulders. His face turned pale.

"Macnair?" he whispered.

"I knew his voice."

"He ... spoke to you?"

"And recognised me. He and the Heir came for us, daddy, just as he came for the erumpents. I must show you, the Malfoys, the Ministry. Everyone."

Father and daughter studied each other in silence. Xeno yielded, letting out his breath and turning to Lucius.

"I will trust my daughter's judgment," the eccentric wizard said gravely. His usual joviality was gone, and he stepped closer until they were face to face. "And knowing what you are capable of, I trust you shall enter her mind with the greatest care, taking only the knowledge you require to proceed. She will be quite unharmed."

Lucius nodded. "Of course."

"She _will_ be quite unharmed," the eccentric wizard repeated, and in his eyes Lucius saw far greater misgivings than the man was able to express; agony at losing one of the people he loved most, mingled with fear for what might happen to the other. The trust he chose to place in his daughter, and in Lucius, was impressive. Potentially dangerous, even; he would never allow someone else to look into Draco's thoughts, but he wasn't about to say so now.

"As a father myself, you have my word."

"Very well," Xeno said, nodding reluctantly to his daughter. "If you feel you are ready, Luna dear, then let us all sit down."

Each of them took a chair at one end of the huge table in the drawing room, gathering around the pensieve. Lucius claimed his customary place at the head of the table; to his right sat Luna, flanked by Xeno and Ginevra; to his left were Narcissa and Draco. (On Draco's shoulders sat Bitsy, but the boy hardly noticed her this time.) He removed his wand and passed the walking-stick to his son, who positively glowed with excitement. It was only the third time he had seen the family pensieve in use.

"Before we begin, my wife and I think it best to demonstrate how this process works and establish trust between all of us. Therefore I will extract one of my own recent memories and allow all of you to view it." The dark wizard took a moment to savour their startled expressions, particularly his wife's. "Naturally, I ask that what you see and hear does not leave this room."

Everyone nodded eagerly, accepting his terms. With a frown of concentration and a pulse of magical energy, Lucius activated the pensieve. The old runes began to glow, and the wide bowl filled with cool, cloudy water that seemed to come from nowhere. He examined the surface until it became still; then, with a satisfied nod, he placed his wand in the water and muttered the incantation they all had been waiting for.

 _"Legilimens."_

He touched the tip of the wand to his temple and moved it away slowly. A thin silvery string was suspended between the wand and his head. As the distance increased, it detached from him and dangled over the water.

Ginevra's voice was hushed with wonder. "Is that a memory?"

"It is. The magic of the pensieve makes it possible to extract one and view it for yourself, just as if you were there. Everything the person saw and heard is revealed, even some things they may not have noticed at the time. Memories are not foolproof of course, but they are reliable enough to be accepted as evidence in many Wizengamot trials."

Lucius returned his attention to the memory. He shook his wand gently, and the silver strand lost its hold and fell into the bowl. A roiling mist rose from the water to dissipate slowly into the air and the wizard nodded again.

"It is ready."

With a touch of his wand the stone basin expanded, until it was wide enough for all six of them to look into at once. The mist began to solidify into different shades of light, then into vague shapes, and finally into a moving picture; not unlike magical photographs like the ones Colin Creevey took, but far more comprehensive.

"We shall now immerse ourselves in a visit I paid to Rebeus Hagrid earlier today," said Lucius. "One at a time, if you please."

Brushing his hair back behind his ears, he leaned delicately over the mist and put his face into the water. It did not ripple or shimmer at all, but the runes glowed brighter as his head and then his entire body disappeared into the shallow basin. Ginevra's mouth fell open at the impossible sight, and she almost reached out to stop Draco as he climbed up onto the table to be next.

"Draco! Your manners!" his mother exclaimed.

"Sorry, mother. Time is of the essence." He winked and 'dove' fearlessly into the bowl.

Narcissa shook her head, then smiled encouragingly at Ginevra and Luna. "Go ahead, girls. It is quite safe."

One by one they entered the pensieve and fell into Lucius' perspective. They found themselves standing in a small, ill-smelling wood cabin. Aside from the faint sepia cast that seemed to cover everything, and the edges of their vision rippling like water, it looked and felt just as real as Lucius had promised. At the other end of the hut stood three figures. Hagrid, the hulking Hogwarts gamekeeper, sat ill at ease upon a groaning chair that barely supported his weight. His faithful but cowardly guard dog Fang stood at attention beside him with the occasional suspicious growl. Before them stood Lucius Malfoy himself, or rather a vision of him only several hours younger, regarding the half-giant and the mutt with disdain.

"Father, the _smell!"_ Draco complained to the real Lucius.

"So this is where Hagrid lives," Luna remarked. "I always wondered what it looked like on the inside."

Ginevra chimed in. "Harry and his friends visit him here all the time. He's not that bad really, just a little ... " She paused as she searched for a word the Malfoys might use. "Coarse."

"That's quite a nice way to say 'roaring drunk'," Draco said with a wry gesture at the uncorked bottle sitting on a nearby table.

"He's not drunk!" Ginevra protested. "See? His face isn't even red yet."

Luna covered her mouth and giggled at her friend's halfhearted defence of the man.

"Shhh," Narcissa admonished them gently, and their conversation quickly died down as the most important part of the memory began.

"So it's you, is it?" Past-Hagrid growled at his unwelcome visitor. "Shoulda known yeh'd be along, Malfoy. All these blasted lies you and your kind 'ave been spreading about Albus Dumbledore. Come to suspend him, I shouldn't wonder. Well, what are you loafing around in my house fer then?"

"My dear man," Past-Lucius said in the droll, lazy voice he reserved for those he felt were beneath him, "please believe that I take no pleasure whatsoever in visiting your ... hm ... _dwelling._ In any case, you are correct. My business with the _former_ headmaster is concluded. And a most dreadful business it was, but as all twelve of us on the Board of Governors decided—"

"An' how many of 'em did yeh have ter threaten an' blackmail? Tell me that, Malfoy!" the half-giant roared. He jumped to his feet in outrage, his shaggy dark hair grazing the rafters of the hut. "What'd you do to 'em to make 'em vote yer way?!"

Past-Lucius was unfazed. "I assure you that the plain facts were all we needed to reach our decision. The wards around this school were in a deplorable state before Professor Snape assumed control of them, to say nothing of last year's ... unpleasantness with your previous Defence teacher. Now, to the purpose of my visit: I wish to apprise you of your new status here at Hogwarts."

Hagrid smouldered. "Yer mean I've been sacked, don't yer? Can't say I didn't see it comin'."

"'Sacked'?" Lucius repeated in amusement. "Certainly not. The authority to hire and terminate faculty falls to the interim headmaster: Professor McGonagall, in this case. And when it comes to keeping the game and the grounds, you are obviously the most qualified man for the job. Rather, it is your career as a student that is under review. You will recall, of course, that the Ministry unceremoniously expelled you and snapped your wand?"

Hagrid scowled at him with surprise. "What about it? 'At's ancient history now."

Lucius handed him a scroll of Ministry-grade parchment, which he unrolled and examined incredulously. "It was also a travesty of justice. Pending new evidence about the case, it is the Board's considered opinion that your, ah, 'pet' acromantula was quite innocent in the death of that muggleborn girl fifty years ago, and that you bear no responsibility whatsoever. I will be recommending that the Ministry's decision be reversed in my meetings with the Interim Headmistress and the Minister For Magic, and that you be allowed to resume and finish your Hogwarts education if you so choose."

"Yeh'd do that ... fer me?" Hagrid's jaw had nearly hit the floor, but momentarily he glared at the wizard again. "No! I don't buy it, Malfoy! Yeh've got no reason ter stand up for me! What could you do about it that Dumbledore couldn't, eh?!"

"That is the burning question, isn't it?" Lucius said knowingly. "Or rather, what can I do about it that Albus Dumbledore chose not to? My stance has always been that capable wizards are worthy of both respect and opportunities. You have been denied both. That, Rubeus, is what I am doing here."

Hagrid squinted. He glanced between Lucius and the parchment in obvious conflict, seeming to agree with what he said but too distrustful of the Slytherin to acknowledge it.

"We expect the Ministry to resolve this matter in January. In the meantime, do enjoy your holiday. I shall be in touch again soon."

The memory paled and faded into nothing, and when their vision returned they found they were sitting around the drawing room table once again.

"Mr. Malfoy?" Ginevra said. "I ... I really want to thank you for doing that. I mean, maybe you had your own reasons. But I think Hagrid deserves another chance."

"If nothing else it should discourage him from making trouble after Dumbledore is gone," Narcissa said slyly. "Though I'm sure such cynical concerns never entered your mind, darling."

"But of course not, Cissy," Lucius smirked. "Well, Luna, this completes our demonstration. Are you still willing to have us view your memories?"

Luna and her father looked at each other. She nodded firmly. "Yes, Mr. Malfoy. I am ready."

"Very well. Please relax."

She leaned back in the cushioned, high-backed chair and closed her eyes.

"Clear your mind as best you can. Focus only on the memory you wish us to see and I shall withdraw it, just as I did my own. _Legilimens."_

The process was harder than Lucius expected. Not only was he uncomfortable using legilimency on children, this particular child demonstrated a degree of mental discipline greater than many of her peers, able to block out many unwanted thoughts or distracting impulses. Reaching out to touch her mind, he encountered unusually strong defences and had to proceed delicately. After long moments he managed to burrow in, rather like a tick in an animal's hide, only to encounter a tangled web of random thoughts. He couldn't get a fix on any of them.

"Are you focusing, Luna?"

"Yes. As hard as I can."

He squeezed his eyes shut and probed her mind again. After a time he noticed patterns in her thought processes, openings that he could circumvent, and he gradually went deeper. Then, in his mind's eye, he saw it: a flickering light in the dark, beckoning him.

"I see it. You may experience a tingling sensation inside your head. It is quite normal. Please remain calm."

He touched his wand to her forehead and extracted a long silver string, withdrawing and dropping it into the pensieve just as before. But as they were soon to discover, the perception of a pragmatic politician and that of an imaginative young girl were two very different things.

Where Lucius' vision was clear and highly defined, Luna's was hazy. The world around them tilted and shifted unpredictably, though some of this was due to the fact that she was running down the second-floor hallway of the castle, struggling a bit to keep up with Draco and Ginevra who were just ahead of her. Draco was more than a bit startled to find his past self was a good deal more attractive and graceful, in Luna's eyes, than he'd ever thought himself to be. Ginevra's hair was a lighter shade than it usually appeared, floating around her head like a scarlet halo. When she turned back to Luna and grabbed her hand to help her keep up, her face radiated love and warmth.

 _Circe's love,_ Draco swore to himself in awe. _Is this how she sees us? Is this Luna's world?_

Even in the dark and threatening moment they were reliving, it dazzled him. The corridors of the castle were blurry, inhabited by odd and sometimes threatening shapes that pressed in from the edges, and yet her friends' figures were sharply defined and wreathed in a sort of light with no discernible source.

As their past selves rushed into the bathroom, Draco and Ginevra jumped at the sight of Moaning Myrtle glumly waving at them before vanishing into the ceiling; apparently only Luna had seen her there. Then came the part they'd been dreading. The sight of the bathroom door bursting open and Sister rearing up before them was terrifying. When her awful yellow eyes blazed into his, he almost fainted again. His mind screamed at him that he should be dead. Everyone else recoiled as well; Xeno and Narcissa cried out, while Lucius instinctively stepped in front of them. It may be only a memory, but it was still a sight not to be wished on their worst enemies.

"Son," his father whispered to him so that his mother couldn't hear, "you have a far greater number of near-death experiences than is proper for a Slytherin."

"And whose fault is that, father?" Draco hissed back. He winced as he heard himself screaming Luna's name. And then ...

 _"What's going on? Why are you still alive?"_

Lucius' hand tightened around his wand as the voice washed over them. He peered into the two-way mirror that hung from the monster's neck, examining it from different angles until he could see into the surface.

There was no mistaking it. The voice in the room, and the face in the glass, belonged to Walden Macnair.

"By the stars, children," Xeno said, appalled. "Is this the danger we've put you in? Luna, darling—how did you ever get out of—"

His words died away as Past-Luna raised her wand and did the one thing she'd promised never to do: invoked her mother's magic. He gasped and turned away from the explosion of white light, hiding his face in his hands as his shoulders trembled. He remained that way through the rest of the memory, which faded away soon after Blaise Zabini's rescue. Even when they returned to the drawing room table, he took no notice.

"Luna," Lucius said calmly, though he was thunderstruck. "Where did you learn that magic?"

Luna shook her head, her eyes still on her father. When Lucius looked to the other children, Ginevra shrugged, and his son turned away.

"Draco?"

"It's her business, father," the boy said. "And Mr. Lovegood's."

"Pandora," Xeno mumbled. A ragged sob tore from his throat, and he fell silent once again.

The damning light glowed from Luna's wand beside her head, as if in mockery. But when Ginevra and Draco's wands took on the same glow, insistent and pulsing, the children became concerned.

"They haven't done that since Draco was attacked by Selwyn," Ginevra whispered to Luna. "Do you think ... "

A harsh chiming sound, almost musical but not quite, rang from the ceiling as the lights flickered violently. Lord and lady rose quickly from the table.

"What in Merlin's name is that?" Ginevra squeaked.

"The security wards around the Manor are activating," Narcissa answered crisply. "The aurors have arrived."

Draco jumped up, his heart racing. "The raid! Father, they can't be seen here! The elves—"

"It is too late to apparate out, and they'll be monitoring the Floo Network as well." Lucius jabbed his wand at the floor, and the marble seemed to melt away into a small hole that opened beneath the table. "This is the only place in the house that is hidden from them. Inside, quickly!"

No one had to tell Ginevra twice. She ducked under the table and slid into the pit feet-first. When her voice came again it sounded like she was at the bottom of a deep well. "Merlin, it's pitch black down here! How are we supposed to see?"

Narcissa thought for a moment, and as usual, a clever idea came to her. Under Draco and Lucius' astonished gaze, she produced the Hand of Glory from her elegant evening robes, thrust a lit candle from the table into its grasp, and passed the loathsome thing over to Luna. "You wanted this so badly, now's the time to use it. Hide, use no magic, do _not_ touch anything you might see down there, and do not make a sound until we return!"

Xeno stared at the Hand with a dazed expression as his daughter led him down into the hidden passage. Another gesture from Lucius sealed it closed, returning the floor to normal. Without another word he replaced his wand inside the walking-stick and led his family to the entrance hall, ordering Bitsy to blink out of sight until their "visitors" had gone.

Before they could even answer the door, a Ministry-approved spell overriding the lock was cast and it swung open to reveal a squad of several aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, dressed to the nines in full navy-blue uniform robes and gleaming badges. They were led by a middle-aged wizard with a long, serious face and hair as grey and curled as steel wool. He brandished a Ministry search warrant without delay.

"John Dawlish," Lucius said coldly. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"Lord Lucius Malfoy? As part of enforcing the Muggle Protection Act, the Ministry's Department of Magical Law Enforcement has been cleared to investigate these premises and confiscate any items that may be deemed a hazard to innocent Muggles or their representatives in magical Britain. As required by this warrant, you shall stand down and not obstruct their work in any way."

"Oi! Wait for me, will you Dawls?!" A brassy young woman with spiky pink hair jogged up beside Dawlish with a sneer on her heart-shaped face. "Wotcher, Aunt Cissy? Awfully nice to meet you at last. This a bad time to visit?"

The temperature in the room fell tangibly. Lucius and Draco looked murderous, while Narcissa stared down her nose at the illegitimate relative. Her sister Andromeda had long been disowned by the Black family for eloping with her former adjutant Ted, and they had not spoken since. There were times when Narcissa pitied her, but otherwise she had effectively suppressed all the memories—those of her sister, and the crippling shame and mockery she and Bellatrix endured because of her. Seeing this twenty-year-old whelp at her door brought them all back, not least because she had Andromeda's dark twinkling eyes. The plain, slack features and graceless figure were undoubtedly her father's. She'd learned through the Ministry grapevine that their daughter was training to be an auror, but this was the first time they'd actually met.

"You are no kin of mine, Nymphadora Tonks," Narcissa said frostily.

"Aww. Still got a broom stuck up you-know-where 'cause of who me dad is? Guess I shouldn't be surprised."

"I acknowledge your right to investigate us in whatever manner the Ministry deems fit," Lucius told Dawlish, seeing the look of horror on his son's face. Only the touch of his wife's hand kept his voice down to a level hiss. "But this is unnecessary and abusive. Miss Tonks is not welcome in our home. I ask that you respect our wishes in this matter."

Dawlish was unmoved. "Wishes aside, you've no choice in it, Malfoy. That's why they call it a raid. As one of our officers-in-training, Miss Tonks is here in a purely professional capacity. Step aside, all three of you, and I assure you this will all go quite smoothly."

Tonks swaggered into the Manor with the rest of the aurors while the Malfoys stood by impotently, 'accidentally' knocking a vase from its pedestal as she whipped her wand out of her robes. The relic tumbled to the floor and broke.

"Whoops!" she called insolently over her shoulder. "I'm right clumsy, ain't I?"

Her fellow raiders showed little more restraint than she as they swept through the front hall, carelessly tugging pictures down from the walls to check for hidden safes and hammering on the wood panels in search of secret doors. Within minutes they moved on to the sitting and drawing rooms, overturning furniture and pawing through every cupboard and closet they could find.

"All standard procedure, I do assure you," Dawlish said smugly.

Narcissa seethed with barely controlled rage. "Oh, yes, Officer Dawlish. We pure-bloods are all well aware of what _standard procedure_ becomes when Madam Bones is not there to enforce it."

"I would be more judicious with my words were I you, Lady Malfoy," said a hard and cruel voice from the doorway. "Upholding Ministry law involves many necessary evils."

A dreadful chill passed through her when they saw the man strolling in behind Dawlish: none other than their old family friend and ally, Walden Macnair. He did not look friendly now. He looked like a predator following a blood trail. Even the Ministry-issue robes and Department of Magical Creatures badge on his chest did little to clean up his naturally brutish and craggy appearance.

 _Luna was right,_ she thought to herself. _Merlin help us now._

"Walden," said Lucius. "It has been some time."

"I only regret that we must meet again under such unfortunate circumstances," Macnair said with a ghoulish smile. His eyes flicked towards Draco, who looked away and stepped behind his father. "But in association with the DMLE, it is my duty to ensure that no illegal or dangerous animals are being kept on the premises. Should I discover this, or any other illegal articles in your possession, I shall have no choice but to ... what is that old saying? Throw the book at you. You understand."

"We understand more than you know, Walden," said Narcissa. 'The book', indeed. As the executioner walked past them and began his own investigation, she could only pray Lucius had listened to her, and hidden the diary where not even this man could find it.

* * *

"No wonder the Ministry is nosing around Malfoy Manor," Ginevra whispered to Luna. "Can you believe what's down here?!"

She gestured all around them at the circular room. It was much wider than it was tall, only about eight feet high from floor to ceiling. Curving shelves on the walls boasted a wide assortment of sinister-looking weapons, family heirlooms, and decanters of mysterious liquid. If these were the things Mr. Malfoy decided to keep, they could only imagine what horrible stuff he'd gotten rid of last summer. But Luna was unafraid as she held up the hideous Hand of Glory, or 'Gloria' as she began calling it, taking care not to pull it loose from Ginevra and Xeno. Only while touching the Hand could they see the candlelight it generated.

"If I know Walden Macnair," Xeno said numbly, "the Malfoys' bad habits are not all that have brought the Ministry here. It's the diary he'll be wanting."

"Good thing it is hidden down here with us, then," said Luna, pointing to one of the shelves.

Ginevra recognised it and quickly looked away. "I hate that thing. Why didn't Mr. Malfoy just burn it?"

Xeno shook his head. "A dark artefact that can harbour an actual spirit would not be so easily destroyed. There exists magic in this world so foul that not even the Malfoys would use it, magic that can preserve life after death—though it would be half a life at best, irrevocably cursed."

Ginevra looked up at him. "You think Tom's diary is something _that_ bad?"

"I do not know. But I fear. And all of my fears of late seem to be coming true." He looked down at his daughter with a lost expression.

"Daddy," Luna appealed to him. "Mummy's magic ... "

"We'll not speak of it here, Luna."

"I had no choice but to use it."

"We'll _not_ speak of it!" cried Xeno in a hoarse, frightened voice. "I told you time and again that no good has ever come of that power being used. I told you of its dangers so that you would not share your mother's fate. So that you would vow never to use it. A vow which you did not keep."

"You knew that mummy passed it on to me, then. You knew all along."

Xeno sighed deeply. "Again, I feared."

"I could not stand by and let the basilisk harm my friends, daddy."

Luna squared her shoulders and looked away from him. Xeno did the same, in the opposite direction. It would have been amusing had their disagreement not been so serious. The mutual silence endured for some time with Luna and Xeno both too upset to speak, and Ginevra too nervous. After a time, a virtual stampede of hurried footsteps echoed overhead. There were sudden, violent thudding sounds as if heavy things were being knocked over or broken.

"The aurors are in the drawing room, I expect," whispered Xeno.

"They're not going to ... hurt Draco and his parents, are they?" Ginevra asked when the noises faded. She would never have thought such a thing before, but if Albus Dumbledore was capable of doing wrong, then why not the whole system that supported him? And if the aurors weren't dangerous, then why would Luna's magic have reacted to them?

"Oh dear me, no," Xeno assured her. "They might arrest his father if they find any incriminating articles. No doubt any auror would jump at the chance to bring in Lucius Malfoy."

"That's so unfair!" Ginevra said angrily. "The war was ten years ago, and he was found innocent! Why can't the government just leave them alone?"

Luna shook her head. "You would have to ask Minister Cornelius Fudge, Ginevra. He's not nearly as nice a man as he seems. I'm sure the awful things he's done to the goblins are just the beginning."

"No doubt goblins are being boiled into soups and puddings in the Ministry's kitchens as we speak," added her father. "My sources believe he consumes them with utensils carved from goblin-bone, a double evil. The man's atrocities against their race will never end until he finally gains control of Gringotts Bank."

Ginevra covered her mouth to hide a smile and looked away. Though she believed her friend to be very wise, the tiny blonde still had some strange and unlikely ideas. She remembered when they were small children, and one of the first things Luna said to her was that her family's property must have the strongest magic in Britain because of all the lawn gnomes that gathered around the Burrow—"for gnome spit, you see, is the most powerful thing on earth." But that was what Ginevra loved about Luna from the first: she ruled nothing out. The Lovegoods were the most open-minded people she'd ever met, living in a world where virtually anything was possible. The Malfoys were quite the opposite, yet somehow they'd found a way to get along. And then there was Ginevra herself.

A light family, a dark family, and a family of mavericks—slowly but surely being drawn together. It was dangerous, but it promised her a life more exciting and successful than she'd ever dreamed of.

Hours seemed to go by, but it was probably no more than thirty minutes before the black wooden planks began to warp and shift. A small hole once again appeared in the centre. The three of them jumped up, afraid that it might be an auror; instead they saw Narcissa, looking pale and shaken.

"You may come up now," she said.

The drawing room was a shambles. The large mirror had been carelessly dislodged from the wall, the glass webbed with jagged cracks. Antique furniture was overturned. _Objet d'art_ were removed from the mantelpiece and strewn around. The grand table rested on its side, while the two great crystal chandeliers were removed from the ceiling; one had been dropped from a considerable height and glittered on the floor in a thousand pieces.

Lucius took note of their shocked expressions, and his lips twisted into a broken smile. "You will have to excuse the mess. The aurors are known to be a tad ... overzealous when investigating 'dark' families."

"Overzealous, my foot," Draco snarled behind him, pacing furiously back and forth. "They're no more than thugs, especially my so-called cousin! That bint did more damage than any of them."

Ginevra rushed over to Lucius and almost hugged him, but managed to contain herself. "You're still here! They didn't take you away."

He patted her shoulder, a tad awkwardly. "Not for lack of trying, I assure you. They became quite upset and suspicious when they discovered no dark artefacts of note. Macnair wanted me apprehended for questioning. Dawlish, I'm sure, would have been happy to go along with it, but I threatened to sue them for false arrest and they recanted."

"Macnair was here, then," said Luna.

"He was, young lady. Between your memory and his presence here tonight, there is no doubt in my mind that your theory is correct," Lucius conceded. "Nevertheless, while I have considerable influence within the Ministry, he is a respected public official. Having him removed will be exceedingly difficult."

"Crazy old Millie Bagnold put her stamp of approval on him ten years ago when she was Minister," Draco added bitterly.

Ginevra's face fell. "So Fudge won't get rid of him without a fight."

"No, he won't. It would embarrass the whole government. Fudge and the rest of the Ministry will look like fools. Which they are." Draco sighed and slumped into the nearest chair that was still upright. "This thing keeps going deeper. Are you girls sure you still want to be involved?"

"I do not care how deep it goes," Luna said simply. "We will reach the bottom of it together."

Ginevra agreed. "I'm not backing out now! I don't know what that diary really is and I don't care. This isn't over until that awful thing is destroyed."

"We have tried with every method available to us," said Lucius. "None has succeeded. I'm beginning to wish I hadn't sold off those poisons."

"No one's better at the Dark Arts than you are, Mr. Malfoy. I know you'll find a way."

"Thank you. Unfortunately, this will not end with one raid. Having failed to obtain what he was looking for, Macnair will use all his influence with Fudge to have us raided again. He knows who you are, and our home is no longer safe for you. The three of you must return to Hogwarts." He raised his hand to interrupt the children's protests. "I understand you were in danger there before. However, with the diary in our possession and Professor Snape taking charge of security, neither Macnair nor the basilisk will pose an immediate threat to you. And the animal will be accounted for soon enough when I speak with Severus about it."

Luna's eyes grew even wider than normal. She twisted strands of wavy hair around her fingers. "Sir, you ... you do not mean to kill it."

"That is precisely what I mean, Luna. But for some extraordinary luck, it would have killed you all twice over. Somehow I doubt an emergency de-wrackspurting will do any good."

"Oh, sir, please don't," she entreated forcefully. "Sister is not like Macnair. She does not have a choice!"

Draco cleared his throat. "She's right, father. Riddle can't give Sister orders if he's not there, and she's promised not to threaten us on her own. She doesn't want to kill, really she doesn't, only to escape—"

 _"Escape?"_ Lucius was incensed. "The monster can kill at a glance! You would unleash something like that upon the world? Use your head, Draco!"

Luna tried again. "There must be a sanctuary, somewhere—"

"An unconscionable risk. If it gets out, _people will die;_ it is as simple as that. Enough, children. I am tired, my house has been torn apart by government-sanctioned vandals, and your lives have been endangered already by a chain of events which _I_ set in motion, unintentional though it was. You are to return to school and keep your heads down. Professor Snape and I will take it from here. Is that understood?"

* * *

"I don't think it's a good idea, Harry."

"Come on, Ron, we've been planning this for months! It's the perfect opportunity to use the polyjuice! We thought we wouldn't see Malfoy again until the new year and here he's back already. I bet even his own parents can't stand him. At any rate, the school's nearly deserted. We'll never have a better chance than this!"

"I really don't think it's a good idea, Harry."

"You can't back out now, you know. You were the one who was so keen on exposing Slytherin. Everyone knows they were behind what happened to Mrs. Norris. I know nothing's happened since, but we still have to find out why. Maybe something went wrong with their plan, or they're only targeting animals for some reason. Hagrid's been losing roosters, hasn't he? Well, I know they turned up with their necks broken instead of petrified, but still ... "

"I still don't think it's a good idea, Harry."

"I know what's bothering you, Ron. It's that Hermione doesn't want to go in there with us, right? I guess that is a bit strange, seeing as the whole thing was her idea ... but she is awfully smart, you know, and if anyone's going to direct us behind the scenes I guess it should be her. Now let's add Crabbe and Goyle's hair to these potions, drink them up, and get moving before those two morons wake up!"

"Well, I tried."

"We'd better take separate cubicles. Once we turn into Crabbe and Goyle we won't fit in one."

"Good thinking, Harry."

"On three now. One ... two ... three!"

 _Gulp._

" ... Urrrrgh. I don't feel good."

"Me neither. How'd I end up on the floor?"

"Harry! Is that really you?! Blimey, you even _sound_ like Goyle!"

"Well, you sound like Crabbe. So far so good. Come on out and let's have a look then."

" ... Wow."

"Wow is right."

"Unbelievable. Look at me, I've even got Crabbe's nose. I'm him. Unbelievable."

"We'd better get going, Ron. It's at least five minutes from here to the Slytherin common room. Good thing Hermione found out where it was. She said it was a secret passageway in the dungeons, just a section of the wall that opens up. Exactly what you'd expect of them, really. Now let's keep an eye on our watches, okay? If the castle doesn't make it too tough on us, we should have ... at least forty-five minutes to talk to Malfoy and get some information out of him. That should be enough."

"Heh heh. You've no idea how bizarre it is to see Goyle _thinking._ C'mon, let's get out of here and meet Hermione."

Sure enough, their bushy-haired friend was waiting for them apprehensively outside the second-floor bathroom. Her brow was furrowed with stress and she was clutching a muggle stopwatch in her hand. "Well, that potion certainly worked. You could fool Crabbe and Goyle's own parents. Now hurry up, you two!"

Potter accepted the map she thrust at him with Goyle's huge, meaty hands. "What's this?"

"A map showing where the Slytherins' common room is. It's an unmarked section of the dungeon wall, so it's easy to miss. Be sure to follow those directions exactly! Otherwise you'll end up wandering between the conference room and Professor Snape's office all night long."

"Right. Thanks, 'Mione," said Weasley, and after a few terse goodbyes he and Potter lumbered off. Potter at least was making an exaggerated effort to look and move like Goyle; Weasley was acting exactly like himself in Crabbe's body, right down to the loping walk and nervous head movements.

When they were out of sight, Hermione leaned against the wall near an alcove and whispered into it. "They've gone, Ginevra."

The redhead stuck her head out of the space. She looked tired and drawn; two long train and carriage journeys in three days would have that effect on somebody. "Rats. I really hoped you could talk Harry out of this, but I guess there's nothing for it. And I can't even warn any of the Slytherins without breaking my promise to Ron ... "

"If Harry finds out any of Draco's secrets it's all over for him! What _are_ you going to do?"

Ginevra gathered what little strength she had and smiled mysteriously. "What Tom would do, of course. Now listen carefully, and do just what I tell you ... "

* * *

"You sure this is the right place?" Weasley muttered to Potter as they stood in front of the wall.

"Yeah. 'Main dungeon corridor, Section 5C'," Potter read from the map before tucking it into Goyle's robes. "This is it."

"Well, how are we supposed to get in? I'm starting to feel stupid just standing here."

Potter chortled. "Good. Keep it up and you just might make a convincing Crabbe after all."

Both boys gave a start as a voice called to them from the direction of the stairs.

"There you are!" drawled Draco Malfoy as he strode pleasantly up to them. The normally spotless Slytherin was looking a bit worn about the edges, making the boys wonder just what had occurred in the three days since they last saw him; his eyes were tired, he walked in a stiff and unnatural manner, his slicked-back hairdo was a rush job with a few strands having escaped, and he had on one of the charcoal-coloured overcoats the castle provided students with in the wintertime rather than his expensively tailored casual robes from Twilfitt and Tatting's.

"What on earth happened to you, Malfoy?" asked Ron. Fortunately his grunt sounded enough like Crabbe not to be out of place.

"More than you can imagine, Vincent. Two six-hour train journeys in three days, and those seats on the Express aren't as comfy as they look. I still can't feel my tailbone. Anyway, I've been looking for you two since I got back to school. Have you been pigging out in the Great Hall the whole time I've been gone?"

Potter and Weasley looked at each other. So they'd managed to fool Malfoy; now what were they supposed to say to him?

"No ... " Weasley began uneasily before trailing off.

Potter quickly jumped in. "We, uh ... we played exploding snap too."

Malfoy's thin lips curled, then broke open in a short, harsh laugh. "I say, Greg, were you making a joke just now? There may be hope for you yet. Come on, you blokes, I've something to show you. This way."

He turned his back haughtily and strode towards the Slytherin conference hall.

"What about the common room?" Weasley said in surprise, before Potter could shush him.

"Farley and Grimmett are using it. In here!" Draco shoved open the grand double doors and beckoned.

They followed him, trying their best to appear comfortable among the silver and green tapestries and the rows of empty chairs that suggested about a hundred Slytherins had just stepped out and might be coming back any minute. Draco motioned them again to a spot at the front row, where he sank into one of the chairs with a groan.

"Well, I can see why you two were concerned about me. I'm knackered and I probably look it. All the way from here to King's Cross and back again! It's a bit of a slap in the face, I don't mind telling you. My parents haven't heard the last of this."

"Anything going on we can help with, Malfoy?" Potter asked, trying his best to sound concerned.

"Anybody whose features need rearranging?" Weasley added, smacking his fist into his palm. With Crabbe's hands the sound was almost like a gunshot. Even Weasley himself looked startled, but that was another expression typical of Crabbe. Potter had to admit his friend was doing a good job, whether he knew it or not.

"Anything to do with the Heir of Slytherin?" he added, watching the blond closely beneath a low fringe of hair.

Draco sent him an admonitory glance. "I already told you we wouldn't be getting involved with that foolishness and I meant it, Gregory. Certainly we all could use a break from the mudbloods sometimes, but some of them aren't too awful. Granger for one."

"Hermione?!" Weasley cried, astonished. "You _like_ her?"

"Control your volume, Vincent. You weren't born in a barn. Anyway, I'd never be _friends_ with her; perish the thought. But she's bright enough to know that hard work and education are the way for her kind to make it around here, instead of crashing around like a crumple-horned snorkack. And she did help me with Selwyn, her and the Weasley girl. She's got some proper wizard feeling in her, that one; a talented duellist as well ... surely you've noticed I'm not bothering her in the halls anymore? Or her brother for that matter."

Weasley had a thoughtful frown on his face (which did _not_ suit Crabbe), only just realising how little Draco had been harassing him lately.

"What's wrong with you, Vincent? You look a bit constipated. I've told you a hundred times to get your eating habits under control ... anyway I've more important things to worry about than mudbloods this year. Haven't you two been paying attention at all? No, I guess that was never one of your strengths ... but you must have noticed I'm spending more time with Luna, studying, Quidditch practise, helping our house win and so on. I know we're already the finest at Hogwarts, but they've got this funny idea that we have to earn it ... strange, that. Anyway, I nearly forgot what I wanted you to see!"

He reached a tad awkwardly into his heavy overcoat, fumbling around a bit until he managed to produce the holiday issue of _The Quibbler._ Potter and Weasley gawked at it.

"I know, you can't quite believe everything you read in it, but it's where we have to publish our newsletter since that old kook Dumbledore banned it, and now they've gone and banned him; poetic justice really. Maybe he'll finally start selling lemon drops for a living, instead of trying to read his students' minds. He even did it to Saint Potter. Imagine!" It was fortunate that Draco missed the extremely conflicted look on "Goyle's" face. "Here, I think you'll get a kick out of this one."

He pointed out an advertisement near the bottom of the page:

 _LEARN PARSELTONGUE FOR FUN AND PROFIT!_

 _ONLY AT THE HISPER ACADEMY IN FOWEY MOOR!_

 _Wizards and witches! Are you feeling tired and overworked? Do you have a pain that just won't go away? Is your wand growing old and tired?_

 _Then don't come here, because all we do is teach PARSELTONGUE! The ability to talk to snakes in their own language, once condemned as a birthright of only the darkest dark wizards, is now highly sought after by the masses! Even Harry Potter, the poster boy for the Light, is a PARSELMOUTH! If he can do it, anyone can do it ... including YOU! Professor Harvin Hisper teaches a seminar guaranteed to help you unlock the snake within!_

 _OWL US TODAY FOR A FREE INTRODUCTORY BROCHURE!_

"I'm sure it's all bunk. But I owled them just for a laugh and they really are serious about it. Look." He produced one of the Academy's brochures, channeled a little magic into it, and watched as the green and scaly paper twisted and solidified into the shape of an actual snake. "You're supposed to practise simple words and phrases on this thing. Ridiculous, isn't it?"

Potter and Weasley stared at it—Potter with grudging interest, Weasley with skepticism.

"But you never know 'til you try, I suppose ... here, why don't you two give it a go? Amuse me. I've got to spend the rest of the holiday here as far as I know, and I'm already bored stiff."

Draco handed them a small sheet of paper with the a list of simple words: _open, close, go, stay, left, right, and so on._

A bit confused at this point, and trying to think of a way to get more information out of Draco before the polyjuice wore off, Potter absent-mindedly read out the first word to the rustling, undulating paper snake. To his shock it came out as actual parseltongue; he seemed to slip into it every time he tried to talk to a snake, even an artificial one.

Draco laughed out loud while Weasley stared at Potter in horror. "Bloody good show, Gregory! I know you're faking but you really did sound like that git Harry Potter for a moment. You ought to be in wizard theatre."

"Thanks," Potter growled in Goyle's voice. "Speaking of snakes though ... you're positive you don't know who the Heir of Slytherin is?"

"No, I don't, Gregory. How many times do I have to tell you? And if I did I would give him a piece of my mind, and my magic while I was at it. There's only room for one top pure-blood heir in the Isles, and that's me. Heir of Slytherin, my foot."

Weasley and Potter looked at each other in confusion. This wasn't going at all how they'd anticipated: they hadn't made it into the Slytherin common room, and all they'd learned about Draco Malfoy was that he wasn't the Heir, didn't mind Hermione and Ginevra so much, and could be surprisingly pleasant to his friends.

Potter looked closer at Weasley and saw that he seemed to be turning red. Even his hair was blushing, his nose growing longer ... their hour was up! The polyjuice potion was wearing off, and they were turning back into themselves. Why hadn't they kept an eye on their watches?!

"Too much food. Stomachache. Medicine," Ron choked out as they both jumped to their feet, and fled the Slytherin conference room as fast as they could.

Draco stood there in surprise for a moment before glancing at his own watch. A knowing smile crept over his face, and he watched with disturbed fascination as his long fingers became short and stubby, his pale complexion turned ruddy and lightly freckled, and his white-blond hair darkened and lengthened into the straight auburn tresses of one Ginevra Molly Weasley.

She shuddered deeply as the third portion of Hermione's illegally but expertly brewed polyjuice potion wore off. She was never, _ever_ turning into a boy again, she promised herself; easy as it was to clip a lock of Draco's hair while he slept on the train, the transformation itself had been profoundly unsettling. But the farther one was willing to go, the greater success they were likely to achieve. The ruse allowed her to get rid of Harry Potter without breaking her promise to her brother. Not to mention the additional benefit her plan had yielded.

Ginevra opened the front of her overcoat, withdrew Hermione's muggle tape recorder from the inside pocket, and rewound the tape. Harry's creepy, hissing enunciation of "open" in parseltongue (in Goyle's voice) played back crystal clear, and she smiled giddily. Now nothing stood between them and the Chamber of Secrets.

 _Oh, Luna and Draco,_ she thought as she checked the Marauder's Map and made sure the coast was clear before exiting. _The things I do for you._


	20. Rubicon

_A/N: "No rest for the wicked or the cunning," Draco said back in Chapter 10, and the events of this story have borne out his words. Our heroes can't even enjoy their holiday break without facing a new danger. In practically no time they've been forced to flee back to Hogwarts—which, under Snape's protection, might actually be called "the safest place in magical Britain" with a straight face._

 _But what to do with Sister, who reached out to Draco in his dreams and rescued him from Selwyn? Can the pure-blood trio and his friends abandon her to her fate after all that? And what will Macnair's next move be? The ripple generated by Luna going to Slytherin has slowly become a wave. This is the chapter where it comes crashing into shore. I had to drag it out of my imagination onto the screen little by little, kicking and screaming, but it's done at last. xD_

* * *

Shadic5295: _Ginevra is pretty clever, isn't she? I don't think Tom Riddle expected her to take his lessons to heart as much as she did. He may have created a monster._

Qinlongfei: _Good points about Tonks, along with everything else! I can understand how participating in the raid would be her way of getting back at the estranged relatives who disowned her mother; I'd enjoy it too if I were her. On the other hand I can also see Narcissa's side. Andromeda may have followed her heart by eloping with Tonks (in a society where marrying muggleborns is never okay, adjutants or no) but she also disgraced her family, whose reputation was already shaken by Sirius' sorting into Gryffindor. More about that in the future ..._

Sunset Whispers: _Ginevra really will go to any lengths to protect her friends. I like how she took the opportunity to compliment herself, while doing what she could to exonerate Slytherin._

Gemsaysfeelings: _Nice to see you again, Gem. You came back at a good time. All the previous chapters have been building up to this!_

* * *

 **XX: Rubicon**

"Albus," said Minerva McGonagall in a halting voice, "you know I have not been looking forward to this."

Dumbledore welcomed her into his office with what he hoped was an encouraging smile, inwardly bracing himself for the news. If anyone was going to officially replace him, however temporary that situation might be, he took solace in the fact that it was Minerva. The outwardly stoic and serious witch across from him was a dear friend—and, if not as useful as she once was, at least passionately committed to his ideals. But nothing could fully soothe the disappointment he felt in this moment.

Several things were destined to be fixtures in his long and challenging life: fame, authority, and sorrow. The first two, he could handle; he had stopped caring what the public and the Daily Prophet said about him long ago, disregarding their ever-changing narratives and keeping his own counsel. Authority was a more complicated thing; as a young man he resisted and ultimately rejected any form of it that he encountered, and now that it was his to wield, it was only natural that some wizards and witches would resist _him._ But that too could be managed.

The sorrow ... this he had never entirely mastered. There were far too many people to mourn, far too many graves at which to lay flowers. For the transformation of Tom Marvolo Riddle into Lord Voldemort, he could only blame himself: his divided attentions, his inadequate vigilance of that young man as he connived and plotted and twisted himself into something both more and less than human. Every life he took would exert its own weight on Dumbledore's conscience, year after year, until at some point during the War it ceased to feel any leftover twinges or misgivings about his own actions. Particularly if said actions were intended to prevent such a catastrophe from ever occurring again. He could not afford to relax his control for a moment, no matter what his title or his role in the events yet to come.

"We do what we must, Minerva," he said gently. "I ask you not to trouble yourself about me, but to look to the future. You know what we must do."

She nodded resolutely.

"Lucius' machinations will be but a minor inconvenience. I shall make every effort to clear up the ... confusion he has sown within the Ministry and the press, and in the meantime I trust you shall be more than worthy to act in my stead. If you will forgive an old professor for assigning just one more list of tasks for his faithful student ... ?"

McGonagall grew even more upright and serious than usual, if such a thing were possible. "Anything, Albus."

He passed her a scroll of parchment. "These notes will tell you all the details. In short, I have a list of recommendations for a substitute Transfiguration Professor, and I encourage you to find a way to expose Gilderoy Lockhart. Frankly, we all believe him to be not only an incompetent teacher but a fraud; employing him will be your best chance to prove it. I believe you already know who I have in mind for his replacement next year."

"I do. Though I have my doubts about him, we are unlikely to find anyone more qualified. Everyone in the wizarding world seems to know the Dark Arts position is cursed."

"Speaking of gossip ... I trust you will monitor the students' communications with great care. As the old muggle saying goes, when the cat's away ... "

McGonagall immediately changed herself into a black cat, her favourite transfiguration. She changed herself back just as easily, adjusted her hat, and smiled archly. "I assure you, the 'cat' shall never be away from Hogwarts."

"That is most reassuring. I do not know what Lucius Malfoy's true intentions are, especially now that the raid on his home turned up no incriminating evidence; however, under no circumstances should he or his house-elves be allowed on school grounds again. His plans may involve his son."

"Draco? The boy's academic and disciplinary records have substantially improved this year."

"Which only makes me more suspicious. Keep an eye on him, and the other on Severus. I believe he may have something to do with the rather ... specific nature of the DMLE's latest charges against me."

The witch's demeanor changed immediately. Her back straightened and her rather intimidating gaze, feared by many a misbehaving student over the years, now rested upon him. "I have come to know Severus Snape very well since the end of the War. If his loyalty to you has wavered now, it would not be without reason."

"I don't suppose you would know any of those alleged reasons?"

McGonagall folded her arms and returned his gaze without answering.

"Ah, well. Perhaps he feels we have pushed him too far. Ultimately, his reasons are irrelevant. We can not afford to tolerate disloyalty in these troubling times. He has been monitoring our wards for a few weeks now, but it might be best if you relieved him of that responsibility at the beginning of spring term. I shall take my leave now, Minerva; I've a hearing to prepare for with Amelia Bones and the Wizengamot in the new year. I trust that I can make them see reason. Until we meet again, a very Merry Christmas to you."

The interim Headmistress softened and shook his hand warmly. "And to you, Albus. I trust we will see each other again very soon."

They parted on good terms as always, but her laser-like green eyes followed him all the way out the door. Deep down inside she knew this day would come; she was by far the most experienced and qualified administrator at the school other than Dumbledore himself, and he'd groomed her as his successor accordingly. She would miss teaching her subject of choice, as well as being Gryffindor's Head of House. But most of all her heart ached for her oldest and dearest friend, for despite all his assurances this did not feel like a brief parting.

It felt like the end of an era.

* * *

Draco Malfoy was not accustomed to waiting. He was a spoiled rich kid and, on the occasion that he wanted something, he received it immediately—or at least a reasonable explanation of why he couldn't have it. Not that he always found it reasonable at the time ... such as when he was five or six years old and quite seriously asked his mother to bring him the moon. But the moon _had_ arrived eventually, or at least a girl named after it, and her friendship had been worth the wait. Overall, the past few months taught him much about the virtue of patience; he had to wait for a chance to get the diary away from Ginevra, wait for the right time to acquire Hermione's services, and was still waiting for an opportunity to get into the Chamber of Secrets.

But no more. Between the humiliation of the government raid, his hopes of spending Christmas with his family dashed, and his father intending to knock off Sister, Draco had reached his limit. He was not prepared to wait one more month, one more day, one more _hour_ to bring this injustice to an end. When Ginevra came skipping into their common room with a devilish smile and a recording of Parselmouth Potter's voice, it was like an omen. This was their best chance, their only chance to rescue Sister before his father got to her first.

He wanted to help her as she helped him. Ginevra saw her as a fellow victim, being manipulated by Tom Riddle just as she once was. As for Luna, she had never needed a reason to help a magical creature in need. They'd hardly been back long enough to unpack their luggage and Snape was probably watching the wards like a hawk, but if they got down to the Chamber just before curfew their magical signatures would drop innocuously out of range. Meanwhile it would not do to undertake such an important task without being fully prepared. Draco spent the afternoon sleeping, bathing, and fussing over his newest set of formal white robes with green and silver vestments. At 9:45 PM, he and Luna left the first-year boys' dorm and slipped out of the common room. Ginevra was waiting for them in Moaning Myrtle's bathroom, having quite the animated conversation with her and the Bloody Baron.

"Young Mr. Malfoy," the latter said, gracious as one could be when limited to a traumatised groan. "Such a delight to see you again. Miss Weasley was only just telling us that you may need someone to ... what is the saying? Watch your backs?"

Draco had been scared stiff when the spectre chose to sit next to him in the Great Hall during his first day at Hogwarts; now he simply bowed, a young Slytherin paying homage to one unfathomably old. "She speaks truly, Your Honour."

"You've got some nerve, trying to help the very monster that killed me!" Moaning Myrtle said through her usual self-pitying tears. She had been a rather dumpy girl in life, with large glasses and pimples that she tried to hide behind a lank curtain of hair. Her voice was a nasal whine that complemented the Baron's oddly well. "And after it nearly got you the same way! You're certainly nicer than any of the Slytherins _I_ went to school with."

"So Ginevra's told you about that," said Luna, with a slightly disapproving glance at her friend.

"Oh, yes," said Myrtle, brightening at the subject. "Fancy meeting someone who knows more about my death than I do! All I remember is seeing those frightful yellow eyes, and my whole body sort of seizing up, and that was all—really it was that dreadful Olive Hornby's fault I was hiding away in that bathroom in the first place. Seeing as her account's already settled, I might as well come along and see to throwing out this basilisk too. Perhaps you'll even get yourselves killed as well, and then I'll have three new friends to join me!"

She laughed gleefully and clapped her hands, but sobered at a glare from Ginevra. Anyone who could scare Peeves and get along with the Baron seemed to demand respect from the other school spirits. "That isn't going to happen, Myrtle, but I'll be glad to come back and see you later. Would you like that?"

"Oh, I suppose," the girl sniffed.

"We shall appreciate any assistance you can offer," Draco said curtly, channeling his father as he usually did when he had to be polite to someone. "Ready then, Ginevra?"

She smiled and held up the tape recorder.

"Hermione doesn't know about this, I hope."

"Of course not, she would have tried to stop us. She's probably wondering what happened to her little muggle machine, but we'll tell her all about it later."

He spared her a small smile of appreciation. "A fine idea. No telling what the basilisk might do if she were with us. Though I can't imagine what you did to make Potter say 'open' in parseltongue ... "

"Uh-uh, remember our deal. I help you open the Chamber; you don't ask any questions. There's no rule against a Gryffindor being resourceful, is there?"

"Fortunately not, or you would all be breaking it just for fun," Luna mused.

Draco just shook his head. "Admit it, Ginevra: you're a Slytherin. You spend more time around us than your precious Potter, all the other firsties in Gryffindor are scared to death of you, and my father allowed you in his home. He never would have allowed that if he didn't see something in you."

The Baron let out a ghostly chuckle. "The same things I see, no doubt."

Ginevra's temper flared. "I am _not_ a Slytherin, and I think we've talked about me quite enough for tonight, thank you! Now let's open the Chamber and get this over with."

She held the recorder up close to the bathroom sink and pressed play. The brief sequence of hisses that meant "open" rang eerily off the walls and ceiling, and one of the taps took on a strange and sudden glow. A tiny snake, carved so delicately into the porcelain that they never saw it until now, seemed to move; the tap spun by itself and next thing they knew the entire sink swung aside with a groan, leaving the gaping round hole in the wall they had seen once before. A blast of cold fetid air issued forth, chilling them to the bone and ruffling Luna's hair.

Draco took a small backward step, his resolve wavering. "So, er ... where do you suppose this leads, again?"

"Down, of course," Luna said ominously. Her delicate features were solemn as ever, but a laugh flickered somewhere behind them.

"Straight down. Very fast," Ginevra agreed.

"And dark."

"And filthy."

"Slimy."

"Stinking. But no true snake would let that stop him," Ginevra finished, with a dark look at the waffling blond. "Now would he?"

Draco's eyes went cold as he returned her gaze. He was no longer thinking of Sister or even his friends, but his own skin; a skin he would very much like to keep clean, alive, and safe. All of his Slytherin instincts, well honed even at his tender age, warned him away from that yawning tunnel. Ginevra had just enough in common with him now to realise this, to know exactly the right buttons to push with him— _damn her,_ he thought helplessly.

"Ready to quit then?"

"In front of a _Weasley?"_ he snarled back, his pride stung. "Not on your destitute little life."

As he approached the hole he was gripped by a sudden fear that if he went first, the girls would lose their nerve and flee, leaving him trapped down there forever. But a gentle hand on his shoulder interrupted those thoughts, and Luna stepped in front of him.

"It is I who should be going down first," she said.

The thought of her getting hurt elicited a very different sort of terror. "No! Luna, I forbid it."

"'Tis not for you, Draco, to forbid me anything. How do we know that Sister will not be waiting for us at the entrance? If she is, and she attacks us again, I am the only one who can drive her off. As for Sister's gaze ... " She reached into her dazzling midnight-blue robes with stars that could be brightened or dimmed with the touch of a wand, one of several gifts she had wheedled out of Narcissa at Twillfit & Tattings, revealing a large black shoulder bag. From this she drew out not one but three pairs of Spectrespecs. "Daddy finished these up just in time, though he knows not what we're using them for. Wait one minute more before you follow me, and be sure to put these on as soon as you are in the Chamber. For I put a great deal of thought into your Christmas presents, and I would like to see you live long enough to open them."

"Very thoughtful, Luna," Ginevra said dryly as she tried on her pair of Specs. She gasped and stepped back from Draco. "Malfoy, your head!"

He looked anxiously in one of the mirrors. "What's wrong? Is my hair out of place?!"

"I don't mean your hair, prat! I mean those _things_ floating 'round your ears. What on earth are they?"

Luna giggled softly. "Why they're wrackspurts, of course."

Unbelieving, Draco put his own Specs on and looked into the mirror. He could hardly believe what he saw! Several dozen points of light inexplicably surrounded his head, glowing like bits of dust in a ray of sunshine. She'd gone on and on about wrackspurts and their ability to 'make your brain go all fuzzy,' but he never believed for a moment that they were real. He waved his hand through them in wonder, and nearly jumped when Luna reached out and touched his wrist.

"Concentrate, both of you. Do not let them distract you, for there is still much to be done."

She drew her winter cloak about her like a shroud, secured her wand in her pocket for a change, and jumped feet-first into the tunnel. The dark swallowed her at once, and Ginevra had to seize Draco's arm to stop him from diving straight after her. The Bloody Baron followed instead, gliding effortlessly through the wall. After what seemed like hours he reemerged with a bow.

"Miss Lovegood has reached the Chamber quite unharmed. There is no sign of the monster."

"That's good enough for me," Draco nodded, and stepped up to the opening. Once more he hesitated, but Ginevra took his hand and on a wordless count of three they launched themselves in together. The drop that followed was like riding his Nimbus 2001 in the rain, so fast and slippery it took his breath away. They clung to each other on instinct, blind as bats and screaming the whole way down. Then it was over and they tumbled in a heap onto a rough stone floor.

Ginevra bounced up right away from the bone-jarring impact with an excited whoop. Her voice echoed eerily up and down the large black tunnel they found themselves in. Draco groaned and struggled to sit up. Luna was standing over him, benign as usual though her hair and robes were smeared with slime. A very weak lumos spell from her wand was their only light source.

"Lost and covered with filth in an underground hell," he said with disgust as she helped him to his feet. "Oh, if my father could see me now."

Ginevra looked down at the state of her robes and giggled breathlessly. "Don't whinge, Draco. We're all in the same boat here."

"A fitting analogy, Ginevra," said the Baron as he floated through the wall arm in arm with a delighted Myrtle. "For this tunnel is nearly wet enough to float one."

"It's just like my bathroom!" the dead girl chimed in. "So dark and damp, and I bet it floods nearly as often too. You live ones shouldn't stay here too long."

Draco grunted with effort as he extricated his wand from the stained mass of his robes. "Believe me, we don't intend to. _Scourgify!"_ He sighed with relief as the fabric became immaculate once again. "Ah, thank Merlin."

"You know that spell?" Ginevra couldn't help being impressed. "That's fourth-year stuff!"

"Mother drilled it into me last summer. She says all Malfoys must be able to see to their appearance at a moment's notice, and I must say I agree. Perhaps I'll cast it on you as well, if you beg ... " He paused at the expressionless glance Luna was giving him. "Oh, very well, I'll do it out of the kindness of my heart. Besides, you're much too good with that stinging hex."

"Remember that the next time you feel like insulting me or my family," the redhead said sweetly.

Draco huffed and recast the cleaning charm on both girls. "There. Now let's fetch Sister and get out of here."

Moaning Myrtle twisted her translucent body about; it took Draco a moment to realise she was admiring her reflection in one of the puddles on the floor. "And just how _do_ you plan to smuggle a thirty-foot reptile out of the castle? Not that I expect an answer, as no one ever listens to me ... "

"She can change her size at will, Myrtle," he replied brusquely as they donned their Spectrespecs. "And she knows I'm trying to help her. As long as she's docile and stays out of sight, she's no danger to anyone really. The difficult part will be telling her what to do without parseltongue. I may have to fall asleep and speak to her in a dream."

Ginevra paled. "You mean we might have to spend all night in here?"

Luna unrolled some extra-wide parchment from her shoulder bag. "Perhaps drawing her a picture or two might help."

"That's brilliant, Luna!" Draco smiled, clapping his hands together. "I daresay it might. Quickly now, let's not waste another minute."

Though he started out at the head of the pack, gradually he found himself lagging behind Ginevra as the long tunnel wound on and on. Malfoys were not adventurers. They belonged in elegant ballrooms or well-furnished parlours with a charming view of a manicured lawn, not in smelly subterranean passageways with cracking ceilings and rat bones all over the floor. At least, he _hoped_ they all were rats. Some of the skeletons appeared larger and fresher than others. Of a sudden he saw movement on the wall and turned with a start, but it was only their own shadows towering over them in the dim light from Luna's wand. Ginevra gave him a withering look, and he sent one right back.

He had never been brave; that was one thing that hadn't changed since last year, when he ran screaming from the Forbidden Forest and left Harry Potter all alone with their late Professor Quirrell. Not that he was ashamed of it. Any sensible person would have done the same, and that Potter hadn't been right on his heels only proved how foolish he was. Courage was a highly overrated quality that only served to get one into trouble. At least the diary was out of play; otherwise, no power in the world could have gotten him down here.

All the while, he tried his best not to think about Ginevra's theory: that Tom Riddle was the Dark Lord all along. He didn't _want_ to believe it. That it was his face Draco glimpsed in one of his nightmares, that he'd slept with an artifact of You-Know-Who cradled on his chest even for one night. He shivered with revulsion. Shouldn't he have sensed it somehow, felt something when he stole the book with his bare hands and scampered back to the dungeons with it? But then, maybe one had to write to the madman to feel anything; perhaps only that could forge the connection through which he'd manipulated Ginevra and Blaise.

 _Damn it all, Malfoy, there you go thinking about it again ..._

Luna must have noticed his expression, because she caught his eye and made a silly face at him. It was so unlike her that, combined with the goofy Spectrespecs, he couldn't resist a snort of laughter. Myrtle and the Baron joined in, while Ginevra looked over her shoulder at them as if they were crazy. Perhaps they were, Draco thought.

The motley crew halted before a solid wall with two intertwining serpents finely carved into the stone. Again Ginevra played 'open' on the tape recorder, and the snakes' emerald eyes glittered promisingly as the wall parted into halves that disappeared into either side of the tunnel.

The Chamber of Secrets was opened, hopefully for the final time in Hogwarts history.

* * *

Hermione Granger was running.

This, in Sen's opinion, was remarkable. Her fellow adjutant was known for her _mental_ exertions, but to see the bossy girl rushing up the stairs with thick hair bouncing about her head and delicate hands flying out at her sides was startling indeed. Something must have upset her.

Sen did not understand why people became upset. Losing control of oneself was unproductive, not to mention unbecoming. Most problems her classmates wailed about had very simple solutions, but it was difficult to make them realise this. Prefect Penelope Clearwater was always dramatising the latest disagreements with her boyfriend Percy Weasley, and when Sen suggested she leave him and eliminate the source of the distress, Penelope was not receptive. Pansy, or Lady Parkinson as Sen called her, was refreshingly direct and never bothered her adjutant with personal problems. But since she left school for the holidays, Sen was starved for intelligent company. At least Hermione might be counted on to be sensible.

"Haruka!" she exclaimed, panting and highly agitated. "We have to get to Moaning Myrtle's bathroom!"

Or not. Sen's expression grew stern at the use of her given name. She no longer preferred to associate with the muggle world or the label it had given her. "That lavatory is occupied by a hostile spirit and flooded approximately sixty per cent of the time. Your suggestion is impractical."

"Just listen! Ginevra's plan ... I should have known ... and now she's disappeared ... and my recorder's gone! ... and Colin said he saw her going upstairs ... with Malfoy and Lovegood. We have to stop them!"

Sen blinked. "We must prevent their use of the lavatory?"

Hermione exhaled sharply. She appeared even more frustrated than before. "No, not that! I mean ... oh, just come quickly!"

The evening bell rang to signal the end of curfew.

Sen glanced calmly at her watch to confirm the time. "It is now after hours. We must return to our common rooms."

"I'm not going back until I know my friends are safe!" Hermione said firmly. "I'm looking in there, with or without you."

Sen blinked again. This was most unlike Hermione, who was usually rational and rule-abiding. Why would she suddenly behave in a manner so inconsistent with common sense? Alas, Lady Parkinson said all Gryffindors were prone to such fancies, and it was no use trying to understand them. She looked about in vain for a prefect, and promptly decided it was her responsibility to bring the second-year girl in line.

But Hermione was already backing away and had rounded the corner before Sen could say another word. With a small frown, the third-year Hufflepuff moved swiftly yet silently after her quarry and seized Hermione's wrist.

"I suggest you obey me and return to your tower, Hermione. Any rule violations on your part will reflect badly on Lord Malfoy. Is that the outcome you desire?"

"Sod the rules!" the younger witch cried mutinously. "I'm trying to _save_ Malfoy!"

Before Sen could ask what she meant, another set of footsteps filled the hallway. Hermione sucked in her breath and flattened both of them against the nearest wall as two more figures emerged from the stairwell and swiftly approached the bathroom.

This was fast becoming a very unusual evening.

* * *

"I know this place," Draco whispered, all misgivings forgotten as he took his first wondering steps inside. "The walls, the pillars, the damned puddles on the floor ... just like my dreams. Everything's the same."

As grimy and run-down as the passage had been, the Chamber itself was a work of malovolent art. High stone columns, also carved with green-eyed serpents, stretched many meters high and disappeared into the shadows of the vaulted ceiling. The stone tiles were far smoother here, and some were engraved with ancient runes which Ginevra couldn't read but identified as some kind of Anglo-Saxon. Darkness hung heavy about the place, and what little they could see clearly was covered in a greenish haze. Every footstep was a transgression, ringing off the walls in a sharp accusing echo, and more than once the living visitors slipped nervously on the damp floor while the two spirits looked on with amusement.

"The air is bad in here," Luna observed. "Even Mr. Slytherin wrinkles his nose at it."

"Mr. Slytherin?" Ginevra raised an eyebrow.

Luna pointed to the back wall where a towering statue loomed high as the ceiling. It was the likeness of a tall and thin wizard with sharp, aged features and a long scraggly beard.

Draco beamed as he stepped closer to it. "That's him all right. Old Salazar Slytherin. He must have carved it himself."

"Look," Ginevra said shrilly. "Lower down."

Curled around the statue's feet, still as a coil of wet rope, was a very familiar giant serpent. Its head was out of view, possibly behind the statue or obscured by the coils of its bright green body, but there was no mistaking Sister. She must have been thirty feet long, four feet wide at her thickest. She was not a pleasing creature to look upon, but even asleep there was a sort of grace that lingered about her, an elegance that only nature's deadliest predators seemed to possess.

Ginevra tried to keep her voice from shaking. She adjusted, then readjusted her Spectrespecs. "Right. Who wants to wake her up?"

"Why don't you use your stinging hex, Ginevra? No doubt she'll appreciate it," Luna said playfully.

"Ha, ha."

To their surprise, Draco was already stepping forward. His pointed features were blunter, softer than usual, and Ginevra realised it was a look of affection. She had seen it on him only a few times before, around Luna and his parents. Luna's wand began to glow with a power other than the _lumos,_ dispelling a few more of the nearest shadows, and she motioned for Ginevra to draw hers. Draco glanced back at them, nodded, and produced his wand last.

They directed the light toward Sister. Her powerful body twitched once, twice, and began to stir. The hairs on the back of Draco's neck stood up as a foreboding and ill-tempered hiss filled the Chamber. The great head rose from behind the statue, swaying in the air as if drunk; her eyes, like two jaundiced pearls, gleamed with displeasure. For a moment even Draco feared her again. Suppose the protective glasses failed them, or that she broke her promise and came after them? One never knew with animals, and he quickly took a step back. This only served to attract Sister's attention, and though she turned away as soon as she recognised them, that critical moment of eye contact would have stricken any unprotected wizard stone dead.

Fortunately, all three pairs of Spectrespecs worked like a charm.

"Sister," Draco whispered raggedly, for his throat had gone dry. He recovered himself enough to approach her again and place a trembling hand on her scales. She felt cold and wet. "It's good to finally meet you in person. I know you can't understand me, but I'm here to help."

She turned her head again curiously, still afraid to look straight at him.

"Why doesn't she just close her eyes?" Ginevra whispered.

"Snakes haven't any eyelids, you fool," Draco said absently. He stepped in front of Sister this time, pointing to the frivolous-looking glasses on his face.

She regarded him dubiously, but her hiss was less threatening this time. Luna skipped up beside him and displayed a picture she had drawn when they weren't looking; alas, Sister only seemed more baffled. Draco craned his neck around to look and noted with dismay that it was a picture of a fat pixie with pointed ears and long fingers. She had also drawn a circle and slash over it in red ink.

"Luna! What on earth is that supposed to be?!"

"A nargle, of course. Even other magical creatures must be wary of them."

Draco smote his forehead. "Forget the nargles! Draw a picture of _her,_ getting smaller! We'll never get out of here if she doesn't know what to do!"

Dark magic rippled through the air, flying straight and true, and of a sudden the basilisk reared back with an unearthly squeal of agony; clear humour dripped from where her eyes had been, and the blinded creature retreated in terror behind the statue.

"For once you are correct, young Malfoy," said another voice. "None of you will be getting out of here."

Time slowed as Draco turned about. For a moment he allowed himself to hope it was the Bloody Baron doing an impression; the old boy had a rather disturbing sense of humour they never knew about 'til Ginevra came along. But Ginevra's face had the same stricken look as his own.

The Baron and Myrtle were nowhere to be seen. Instead two other figures stood in the passage, both very much alive. The flickering torch-light lent a sickly orange hue to their skin. The taller one was Macnair; his voice and lean muscular frame were unmistakable as he stood proudly before them in draping robes of black. The gaunt face was hidden behind a metallic mask for which all Death Eaters were known and feared during the war, but Draco imagined him smiling in what was surely a moment of triumph.

He felt himself shrinking, diminishing in the intensity of the man's gaze; how could they have been so stupid? He should have known it would come to this. One could never escape when the Dark Lord or one of his followers was on their trail, at least not for long. Not the once-prolific Prewett family, not Saint Potter's mother and father, and obviously not him and his friends. Richard Selwyn stood to Macnair's right in funereal grey, looking haunted and hollow-eyed and quite ill at ease in the Chamber.

"Selwyn tells me the filthy serpent had a soft spot for you," Macnair said with a careless gesture at Sister. "No matter. She had to be dealt with anyway. A great disappointment to Slytherin's legacy, much like yourself."

Luna had been watching the basilisk with surprise and pity; now she looked past Macnair to his protege. "Selwyn. You have been working with him all along, haven't you? Through the mirror."

Selwyn stared back at her unpleasantly without answering.

"He is here to do his duty," Macnair said gravely. "For those of us pledged to the Dark Lord, there is no alternative—is there, young Malfoy? He still lives. He shall return. Death is the only escape for those who oppose him ... or betray his ideals. It was unfortunate that you brought these girls with you, traitors though they are. But I am not without mercy. I may yet allow them to live, if you do as you're told."

Draco was too frightened to move, let alone draw his wand. It was just as well; Selwyn alone was good enough to wipe the floor with all three of them and Macnair was one of the most accomplished Death Eaters alive. Not as good as his Aunt Bellatrix had been, perhaps, but still lethal. They wouldn't stand a chance in a duel. "What do you want me to do?"

Macnair's eyes gleamed in the eyeholes of the mask. "Much, and yet very little. I took the liberty of owling your father, with a demand that he come here alone with the diary if he ever wants to see his son alive again; he should be receiving it any minute now. There are ways into the school, ways that only we know of. With the grounds nearly deserted and Albus Dumbledore gone, he should arrive here undetected. Just as I did."

Survival, Draco's father once told him, was the truest test of any Slytherin. Not heroism, not work ethic, not high education. Not even one's skill with the Dark Arts, but pure resourcefulness; the ability to slip out of a tight spot. They didn't come much tighter than this.

Professor Snape, his dutiful but distant godfather, had gone further in one of their tutoring sessions. He explained that the key to survival was maturity and a clear head: accepting, rather than denying, the possibility of death. How, when he was a student himself, some classmates lured him into the Shrieking Shack one night and locked him in with a deadly magical creature. He refused to describe the creature or reveal who those classmates were—but they must have been absolute cretins, Draco imagined, to not realise how dangerous it would be.

 _"My childhood ended after that night, Draco, in the only way that anyone's youth truly can: when I realised the possibility of death. That no one lives forever, and if my end came that night, then so be it. If there was a way out, I would take it gratefully; but in the event there was not, then I had nothing left to be afraid of."_

Now, at last, he began to understand how the man must have felt. His heart ceased to pound in his ears, and his consciousness expanded to a point that the crashing waves of panic could not reach. He could actually see himself standing on a shoreline, watching them ebb and flow; it was an indescribable experience, like a dream and yet not.

Draco preserved the image in his mind. He looked up, only half-seeing the grim tableau of the Chamber.

"Get behind me," he told his friends in a hoarse whisper. Luna did so at once. Ginevra obeyed a moment later, but even now she glared defiantly at their enemies, not yet resigned to her fate. The back of the Chamber was a solid wall. They were trapped like rats, and he hadn't seen a live rat down here yet. His father would be walking into the same trap, and he knew he must do something to stall them, distract them until they had a chance to escape. His eyes rested on Selwyn. "Scrubbing my flesh off wasn't enough for you, Richard?"

Selwyn didn't look at him. His shoulders were slumped in resignation. "I was trying to warn you, Malfoy. Myself, Theodore Nott ... even the Heir, spirit of the Dark Lord himself, warned you to stay out of this. You'll never be clean now. I really should thank you. My family having to make nice with yours was the only thing holding me back. Now that your parents have gone and dropped us like a bad habit, my social prospects are finished. Following him is all that's left for me, and I welcome that."

"The bloke in the diary isn't the Dark Lord yet, Richard. For Merlin's sake, he's younger than _you_ are. He's the ghost of a sixteen-year-old with a bad attitude. You want to follow that?"

"It will suffice," Selwyn said stubbornly. "Until he truly returns."

"Which you will not be here to witness," Macnair broke in. "That is the true purpose of the diary. We require a living soul for the horcrux to absorb, you see, so that our lord may be reborn. And since you've made such a nuisance of yourself lately, you shall serve as the host. It was your destiny to give yourself to him one day, willing or no. Selwyn and I are merely accelerating the process."

Draco didn't know what a horcrux was, only that it must be something terrible; he had come across the word while sneaking a look in one of his parents' private books a few years ago, and his father had caught him and punished him severely.

"My father will hunt you to the ends of the earth," he said confidently.

"Your father will be dealt with shortly. Selwyn, confiscate their wands. Should one of them resist you in any way ... torture them. Even Malfoy. I need him alive. I do not need him healthy."

"You can't do that! It's an Unforgivable Curse!" This was blurted out Ginevra, who for several minutes had been working up the courage to say something. Though she stayed firmly behind Draco, she did not panic when Macnair's deadly visage turned in her direction.

Selwyn grimaced and held up his hands. "Sir, I cannot do that. They are mere children."

"Quiet!" Macnair retorted in a voice that echoed vehemently through the hall. "You have tested my patience enough, Selwyn, with your ravings about mudbloods one minute and your snivelling entreaties the next. You've been listening to your soft-hearted girlfriend too much. Only those who have proven their resolve may earn the right to wear this mask. All your devotion is for naught until you grow a _spine!_ If I've told you that once I've told you a thousandfold."

Selwyn's shoulders trembled. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. I ... "

"Disarm them. Now."

With a cautioning glare, he began to explore the Chamber. Selwyn collected their wands without another word and leaned against the nearest wall, freezing and miserable.

"Stiff upper lips, girls," Draco muttered over his shoulder. "I'll think of something."

Where the hell were Myrtle and the Baron? They must have sensed Macnair coming if they'd vanished so suddenly, but not in time to give them a warning. Draco couldn't wait forever for them to make their move. As he frantically searched his mind for a way out of this, he remembered the beach he visualised earlier. It really did feel like a dream. Perhaps, if he tried to speak to Sister through it ... well, anything was worth a try at this point. He closed his eyes, shutting out the fear and the chill until he could see the beach again. He focused as sharply as he could, directing all his attention to the blinded reptile behind them—calling her in a way, until he could actually see her giant form coiled on the sand.

"Sister snake," he thought, rather than said.

His breath caught in his throat when she stirred.

 _Dream Speaker ... my eyesss ... dark, all dark ... pain._ Her thoughts came to him in fragments. She was frightened. For months her gaze was an ever-present threat to them; now, before they could even think of using it in their favour, it was gone. Perhaps that was for the best; Draco was not ready to have lives on his conscience. But without using Sister, what hope did they have against Macnair?

"I know, Sister. Our enemy ... your prey ... he did that to you."

 _My prey?_ she repeated uncertainly.

"You can make him suffer for it, Sister. Would you like that?"

 _Prey ... poison ... crush. Make it suffer._

"He is here. Can you smell him?"

 _I have the ssscent of five humans. You. The bearer of the light. The red female._

"And the other two?"

 _Young male, reeking of fear. Older male ... potent magic. Smells of death. Risssky, Dream Speaker, selecting prey as strong as oneself. But the kill is always rewarding._

"Follow his scent. Be ready to strike at him when I give the word. Spare the other one."

 _Ready,_ Sister repeated. She had collected herself. Her tone was cold and vengeful.

But it was nothing compared to the voice Draco heard next. It was familiar yet strange, sophisticated yet sharp, like a dagger wrapped in silk; he'd heard it thousands of times, but rarely like this. It was the voice which must have deposed more political rivals and terrorised more muggleborns than he could count. It was the voice of his father in anger.

"This is most unseemly, Walden," Lucius Malfoy said. He stood at the Chamber entrance with his walking-stick in hand, appearing calm and comfortable as a lord in hall. Dark green duelling robes silently writhed and shifted on his solid frame, as though dozens of snakes were creeping beneath them; their movements were almost hypnotic, intended to distract enemies. The garment had been passed down to him from Draco's grandfather Abraxas, who was no doubt enjoying his retirement dragon-watching and trekking across the Welsh countryside near his mansion, never suspecting that both his heirs were about to engage in a struggle for their lives.

Macnair took an instinctive step back. "Much is at stake here, Malfoy. You'll forgive me for inviting you to a friendly chat on such short notice."

"You have already lost. You might at least do so with dignity."

Macnair bowed, low and mocking. "I beg to differ. We have your son and the monster is disabled; when all is said and done, we'll no longer need her to cleanse the filth from this school and begin the Wizarding War anew. We are on the cusp of victory, as you'll discover shortly if you brought the diary as ordered."

"Indeed. It must be of even greater import than I believed, for you to forfeit your life by threatening my son."

"Hollow threats, old friend. You're outnumbered and outmagicked. Certain incidents involving this Chamber, and the relic with which you unfortunately were entrusted, have compelled us to act. We have no choice."

Lucius sneered. "Choice, Walden? I have spent the last four months watching vital decisions, decisions which my status gave me every right to make, _ripped_ from my grasp. You are blinder than that serpent if you believe _this ... "_ Here he gestured fiercely at the menagerie of his son, the two girls, and the wounded Sister. " ... Was what I ever desired. Coddling muggleborns, consorting with light families, the truth of our house buried in the pages of a tabloid. But it is the hand I am dealt, and I will play it with all my skill."

Macnair drew his wand. "Then allow me to test your resolve. I am glad you seek no way back from this, for there is none. I will enjoy granting you a traitor's death."

He wasted no more time on words, but started the duel with an effortless stunning spell.

Lucius extracted his wand and blocked the attack in one smooth motion. A terrified Draco would remember this moment as seeming to last forever, but in truth it was less than a second before Macnair followed up with a barrage of stronger hexes. He fought ferociously, not unlike the hundreds of dangerous creatures he'd executed for the Ministry. Every attack was disguised with a wild unpredictable movement and punctuated with a growl. But Lucius, who had fought alongside the man years ago and knew what to expect, stood his ground and parried or evaded every strike.

Even he was surprised when his adversary threw an elementary Jelly-Legs Curse at him. It was blocked with a hastily erected shield. A snarling Macnair went low again, this time with a dangerous _Diffindo_ that destroyed the shield and could have severed his legs. Lucius simply jumped into the air and cast a levitation charm on himself, allowing the attack to miss him by inches as he responded with his first strong counter-spell. It was an _Everte Statum_ that sent Macnair flying, but he expertly absorbed the impact with his shoulder and rolled backward onto his knees, firing back with an Orbis Jinx. This spell looked like a blue whirlwind and it caught Lucius off guard, dragging him down into a floor where the stones were suddenly shifting and breaking apart to swallow him into the earth.

As a grinning Macnair advanced on him Lucius simply captured the broken pieces of stone and threw them with an Oppugno Jinx. Despite a timely _Reducto_ spell that vaporised most of them on impact, a few pieces connected and opened bleeding cuts in Macnair's robes. This gave Lucius enough time to cast _Finite Incantatem_ on the floor and roll out just as his adversary threw a _Bombarda_ at the hole he'd been trapped in; the resulting explosion opened a great pit in the center of the Chamber and sent wet rubble flying every which way.

Draco could hardly believe his eyes. All his life he'd yearned to see his father in an actual duel. He had practised with him of course, learned a few key spells from him and mother with a training wand before even setting foot in Hogwarts. But this was a real fight—a test of cunning, reflexes, and killer instinct. Wait 'til he told Pansy and Blaise and all his other friends about this, he thought, assuming he got out of it alive. All the while a blinded Sister stewed and hissed irritably behind him, no doubt smelling the presence of another human on Draco's side and keeping well clear of the magic energies given off by both men. Ginevra stood wide-eyed next to him, committing every second to memory and unconsciously squeezing Draco's arm whenever a particularly strong attack was launched, while Luna whispered encouragements into his ear: "Your father is very strong, Draco ... he shall protect us, Draco ... our enemies shall beg on their knees, Draco ... Macnair is a filthy erumpent killer and Selwyn has wrackspurts."

The spell Lucius uttered next was inaudible, but it caused part of the floor to destabilise and undulate like a wave; Macnair prevented injury by falling on his shoulder again, and anticipating which way he would roll, the father followed up with _Expelliarmus._ The disarming charm just missed. Fighting from the ground, Macnair connected with an _Incarcerous_ that caused multiple ropes to lash out from nowhere and wrap around his enemy's limbs. With his next move he set the ropes ablaze. The children cried out in alarm, but Lucius had not lost his wand, and a defensive spell severed the ropes before the flames could reach him. He landed gracefully on his feet, robes billowing around him as he returned Macnair's mocking bow from earlier.

"A good show indeed, Walden," he said, catching his breath. "But as you can see, I am not so easy a target as the defenceless animals you've no doubt practised on all these years."

Macnair wrenched his mask aside and tossed it away; his face was a picture of hatred, eyes sunken and glowing, spittle gleaming at the corners of his mouth. "You are the true coward in this, Malfoy! Relaxing, living in luxury while these children labour to fix your mistakes! And since you've already put them in harm's way, you won't mind if I do the same."

A violent summoning spell jerked Draco off his feet and straight into Macnair's crushing grip, where the Death Eater secured him with one arm and put his wand to his head with the other.

"Enough of this. Surrender, or the little brat dies."

"Sir," an alarmed Selwyn interjected.

"Shut up!" Macnair bellowed without looking at him. "Your wand, Malfoy, and the diary. Now!"

Draco struggled to speak around the elbow that was partially cutting off his air, making him dizzy. "Don't do it, father. He needs me alive for—"

His words died away as an enraged Macnair began choking him in earnest, lifting him off the floor; he struggled with all his might then, driving the heel of his shoe back into the man's shinbone. Macnair howled in pain, losing his grip, and Lucius quickly summoned Draco and the girls behind him, casting the strongest _Protego_ shield he could muster.

"Give up now, Walden, and I might show you mercy," he said darkly. "Though I can't promise the Dementors will."

"You can't possibly hope to sway me," Macnair retorted, seething. "The horcrux in the book, the spirit of the Dark Lord that still endures—I shall have both. I shall unite them and return him to power. I alone was entrusted with this task, and none in my way will survive! _Bombarda maxima!"_

The deadly explosive beam arced over their heads, aimed not for them but the section of floor behind them, where the shield was weaker. It held up just enough to prevent serious injury but all four of them were sent flying. Draco's ears rang from the blast and for a moment he nearly lost consciousness. But as he rolled over to Sister, he imagined himself on the beach once more, and knew it was now or never.

"Now, Sister! Get him!" he shouted into the silence of their minds, and the basilisk obeyed.

Macnair had wasted no time, crouching over a fallen Lucius and taking Tom Riddle's diary from his robe. He looked up to see a furious basilisk lunging straight for him, its huge fangs glistening with the most lethal venom known to wizardkind.

She missed.

Years of battle had sharpened Macnair's nerve as well as his reflexes and he dove aside at the last moment. Sister's jaws closed on air, and he retaliated with a spell Draco did not hear, but the serpent collapsed on the floor of the Chamber and did not rise again.

Draco stared in disbelief, breathing hard and struggling to prop himself up on his hands. Some of the broken stones had cut him and blood was trickling down over his fingers, but he didn't feel it. There was only grief for the creature who had tried so hard to help him, and despair that their last hope for survival had failed. It was all over.

Macnair turned on his heel and stalked over to his father, no doubt to deliver another fatal blow. Draco was sorely hurt, but the idea of his father dying animated him to frenzy. He staggered to his feet and across the cavernous room, desperately jumping on Macnair's back with his arms around his throat. Selwyn stood about twenty feet away, hesitating as if he wasn't sure whom to help. The dark wizard struggled to dislodge the boy, finally throwing him to the floor and aiming his wand at both father and son.

Ginevra stood up with murder in her eyes, lifted a large piece of stone from the debris, and clubbed Selwyn right in the kidneys with it. He went down to his knees with a wheezing cry and she rapidly searched his pocket, finding Draco's wand first. Macnair remained unaware, poised over Lucius again as Ginevra caught Draco's eye and threw him his weapon.

There was no time. He couldn't possibly have time, Draco thought as he snatched the hawthorn wand from the floor—Macnair's mad eyes were already gleaming with the thrill of victory, a terrible curse on his lips, mouth opening wide as he bent down—

Hatred burned in Draco's heart as he rolled on top of his father and screeched, _"Serpensortia!"_

The white snake flew from the end of his wand and directly into Macnair's mouth, sliding halfway down his throat before stopping. He reeled backwards and clutched at his neck with a choked scream of horror, the tail end wriggling from his lips. Lucius' eyes snapped open at the sound.

"Master!" Selwyn cried with alarm. He threw Ginevra to the floor and fired a paralysis spell at Draco that left him helpless. He was trying to help Macnair, get him to hold still long enough for a Finite Incantatem to connect, when Luna rose to her knees behind them and took dead aim at the pair of wizards.

 _"Spiritus Fulgur!"_

It wasn't the spell that had killed her mother, but it was a good deal closer than the advanced _Lumos,_ and spectacularly dangerous. She gripped her wand with both hands, just barely holding on as it shook from the blinding power. Ginevra watched open-mouthed, knowing no eleven-year-old witch could hold that much magic inside of her; it had to be coming from somewhere, channeled from some other source. It was fortunate that the wizards' backs made for a broad target. The sparkling bolt struck with the sound and force of a thunderclap. Selwyn took the full brunt of it; he dropped like a stone and lay dazed. Macnair dropped the book and staggered, legs barely under him, half a serpent still protruding freakishly from his mouth.

Both of the Malfoys had now got their bearings, and Draco spared only a moment to relish fighting alongside his father for the first time. His disarming charm and Lucius' stunner both connected, leaving the Death Eater wandless and half-conscious on the floor.

Selwyn had risen to his hands and knees and now crawled towards them. He blearily raised his arm to attack Lucius but his wand, glowing a faint white in his hand, failed to cast. Selwyn was looking at it in bewilderment when a black cat with pale circles around its eyes appeared as if from nowhere and sank its claws into his back. He yelped with pain and dropped the wand, trying to get the yowling creature off him. He pulled a dagger from his boot and took a swipe at the creature that missed, though barely; then an ashen Severus Snape fired a _Petrificus Totalus_ to immobilise him for good.

The cat leaped a few feet away from his body, where her form warped and grew into Headmistress Minerva McGonagall.

"I am perfectly capable of handling myself, Severus," she said.

"Please, Headmistress, do try to contain your gratitude," Snape retorted sarcastically.

"I do not see why two faculty members were needed for this. The ghosts of Myrtle Warren and that awful Baron notified me right away that some young friends of theirs were in danger."

"Just as Miss Granger and Miss Endoh alerted _me_ that they saw these two lunatics sneak into the Chamber. Though I was already headed there to investigate the dozen or so alarms set off by their magic. That, need I remind you, is standard when the person overseeing the wards is doing his job. Which was not the case prior to this month."

"If I hear one more word of criticism about Albus—" McGonagall's voice failed as she saw the massive form of the basilisk, and the boy who knelt sorrowfully beside her. Tears rolled down his cheeks and dripped into her scales as he pushed at her neck, trying in vain to rouse the monster.

His father went to pull him away. He only clung more tightly to her and, concentrating with what little energy remained, found that quiet place in his mind. Sister's form was translucent on the sand and fading fast.

 _Dream Speaker,_ she said weakly. _The grass. The soil. I wish I could have felt it._

"Oh, Sister," he whispered. "I'm so sorry."

 _You hunted him down, in my place. You shall be a great predator one day._

"Please, try to hang on. We'll get you a healer. We can—"

 _Dream Speaker. My venom. The wanker's book ..._ She took a deep shuddering breath that might have been a chuckle. _Use my venom._

Cloudy fluid dripped from her fangs onto the floor, and she was still.

Draco knelt over her, sobbing quietly. Luna and Ginevra joined him a moment later while McGonagall looked on in shock, standing well back from the unsettling scene. Ginevra whispered something to Lucius, who nodded and discreetly passed her the diary. She hid it in her robe as he stood up and went to give his statement to the professors.

Ginevra knew there wasn't much time. The deal was simple: she may destroy the diary herself as long as she told no one the Malfoys ever had it, and she gladly accepted. Sister's venom still trickled from her mouth. It was slow and sticky, roughly the consistency of ink, and beginning to steam.

The girl knew immediately what to do. A terrible yet joyful feeling sang softly in her heart. She would later know it as vengeance. She looked at her friends and coughed, wincing from her bruised ribs.

"Say, Luna. Do you still have your quill?"


	21. The Poison Pen

A/N: _First and foremost: my apologies for the interminable delay on this chapter. To put it simply, I was running on fumes when I finished the climax last August, and it was so well received that I despaired of ever writing a worthy follow-up. Eventually I decided to stop worrying whether this chapter was good enough or not and just get it out there, or else the story would never be finished._

 _Next up: the aftermath of the battle, the Christmas festivities, and signs of things yet to come. But first: my replies to some of the most rewarding reviews! (If any of you can remember what you wrote all those months ago. xD)_

* * *

ghostcrab311: _Sister's fate was a pretty sad one. I shed a few tears after I finished that part. I guess I didn't realise how much she'd grown on me. On the plus side, she did manage to help them as you said, and perhaps the events of this year will make Draco a little more understanding towards magical creatures. Time will tell how this changes the events of 'Prisoner of Azkaban.'_

Qinlongfei: _Interesting observations as always! McGonagall does trust Dumbledore, though not blindly; I think she respects Snape a lot more than she lets on. When Dumbledore tried to sow seeds of doubt in her regarding Snape, she resisted. I think that's a good sign._

aslooneyastheyget: _Welcome! Actually 'The Poison Pen' was the working title of Chapter 20, but I saved it for this one instead. :) I worked hard on the wizards' duel and I'm glad it came out well. Thank goodness for the Potter Wiki. I did many hours of research there to build this story's world._ _Macnair is an animal who would take shortcuts and go for the legs often. Lucius' more cerebral and defensive style made him well suited to countering that. He just has to watch out for those six-o-clock Bombarda Maximas!_

Gremlin Jack: _Thank you, Jack. It's been a tough project, but also very rewarding. I will do my best to oblige you._

ReadingnerdOtaku: _Yes, the story is definitely wrapping up. This chapter is the aftermath of the battle, and I might throw in an epilogue to set up the sequel._

gemsaysfeelings: _I like Lucius here, too. While some readers have trouble picturing him as anything but a bigoted and evil dark wizard, his family is taking him down a brighter path here. His reasons for going along with them have been hinted at along the way, but they will be clarified later on._

Philkins27: _I wondered what had happened to you! And you were probably wondering what happened to ME, after making you wait so long for an update. Good to see you again, Philkins. The pure-blood trio has survived, but how are they holding up after a harrowing night in the Chamber? Read on to find out._

ComicsToo: _I appreciate your feedback. I lost plenty of sleep writing this as well, but it was worth it._

zuzanaH: _Thank you! That's the sort of thing every writer likes to hear._

oniforever: _"From the very beginning, I have taken your souls and your emotions and milked you for all you were worth. Making you cry, making you laugh; making you happy, making you sad; playing some little game with you... " -Jake 'The Snake' Roberts_

TexasBean: _You've summed up exactly what my original plans were for this story: just a lighthearted Luna/Draco friendship fic with some AU elements. Little did I know what a long and engrossing project it would become._

* * *

 **XXI: The Poison Pen**

Revenge was a dish best served colder than her mother's leftovers.

Ginevra could not remember when that thought first came to her, but it seemed fitting. Four months had passed since Tom Riddle came into her life. Four months since he first dazzled her with his lessons, his promises, and his lies, stealing her soul all the while. She became anemic, sickly; she could never write to him enough, and each time she did it wore her down a little more—until Luna Lovegood and Draco Malfoy intervened, doing for her what she could not have done for herself.

How much longer would it have taken, she wondered, for the diary to absorb all of her energy? Would she have lived through Christmas? Easter? Her first-year exams? She had no idea how such magic was supposed to work, only that it was dark, and that was no longer enough. She needed to learn exactly what it was so she could guard against it in the future. No one could be allowed to make her so weak and helpless again, and if they tried, Ginevra would make them suffer.

Just as Tom had suffered.

She didn't know how long she crouched in the wreckage of the Chamber of Secrets with Luna and Draco, hovering over the diary with her back turned to McGonagall and Snape as Mr. Malfoy distracted them with his long and no doubt deceptive account of the battle. But it must have been quite a few minutes. She had to dip the quill in Sister's venom several times before the job was done, writing a bitter and vengeful litany as the poison seeped into the pages and killed him slowly. If his begging and pleading and increasingly sloppy penmanship were anything to go by, Tom felt every bit of it. Finally the book itself dissolved, melting down into an awful-smelling black sludge that soaked into the cracks in the floor and vanished, and she handed the quill to Draco's father when the professors weren't looking, fighting back a triumphant smile.

She shouldn't have enjoyed it so much. She should have felt guilty. The dark spirit she killed had once been a _person_ , a student at Hogwarts just like her. But knowing what he planned to do and what his creator went on to become, Ginevra's only regret was not getting more out of the experience. She wished she had learned more from Tom before things went south, but what she did get was enough to change her life. No longer would she giggle at little nothings and fawn over Harry Potter like most of the other girls in her year. The things they talked about just didn't seem to matter anymore.

Power, knowledge, and protecting her friends as they protected her ... these were the things that mattered. If that meant alarming her brothers, consorting with ghosts, and being viewed as a snake in lion's clothing by her fellow Gryffindors, that was simply too bad. She was Ginevra Weasley, pure-blood witch, and she had every intention of living up to that heritage.

Plans within plans blossomed in her mind as she followed the others up to the Headmaster's—now Headmistress'—office.

* * *

 _Dear Mother,_

 _No doubt you were concerned when Father was suddenly called away from the manor this evening. He will return momentarily. We shall explain everything over Christmas, which I dare say I will be able to spend at home after all, and Father agrees. For now I just want you to know we and the girls are quite all right._

 _Everything is fine._

 _With Love,_

 _Draco_

—

The boy penning this letter on the Headmistress' desk was a faltering shadow of the one Luna Lovegood met on the train nearly five months ago. His eyes were tired, staring into space one minute and darting about like a frightened animal's the next. His normally immaculate hair and robes were smeared with dust. Discoloured bruises from the fight had risen on his pale skin. He could barely steady his hand enough to write. Luna watched him, offering no words; just a comforting hand on his back to let him know she was there.

Headmistress McGonagall stood at the other side of the room conferring with Professor Snape, out of earshot but keeping an eye on them. Their statements had been given, their stories told mostly by Lucius with no mention of the diary. Macnair and Selwyn, it emerged, were attempting to terrorise the school. It was Selwyn, and no other, who had used some obscure dark magic taught to him by Macnair to open the Chamber of Secrets and release a legendary monster. Not even his parents or his girlfriend Gemma Farley knew of his plans. Draco himself had learned of them when the basilisk reached out to him in his dreams. For as Salazar's creature she shared a mystical connection with all Slytherins, and had no intention of harming anyone. As for this so-called "Heir of Slytherin" business, why, it was an age-old rumour. Never an ounce of truth in it, as far as Draco could tell. He had told these lies to McGonagall as easily as he breathed, even while his shoulders trembled and his face was streaked with tears and he looked for all the world like a traumatised child fresh off a near-death experience.

That part, at least, was genuine.

Tom Riddle's diary had to be omitted, not least because it would lead to his father being charged with child endangerment and use of illegal dark magic. It might also be seen as evidence of collusion with Voldemort towards the end of the war, when he was supposed to have been under the _Imperius_ Curse—and if Lucius did serve him unwillingly, why would he have kept the book after the curse was lifted? Macnair and Selwyn had already been hauled off by the Aurors, and they might well mention it when they were interrogated by Amelia Bones, but since the diary had been destroyed without a trace, their mad ravings would be easily dismissed.

Luna and Ginevra were completely on board, of course, and even Hermione knew better than to contradict the Malfoys' version of events. She sat wringing her hands in one of the chairs against the wall, alternating between curious glances at the moving portraits of previous Headmasters and concerned looks at Draco. Presently she approached his father, who was turning his cane slowly in his fingers.

"Mr. Malfoy?"

His eyes were wary as they rested on her.

"You really did it, didn't you? You fought one of your own ... what I mean to say is, a fellow ... well, I mean former ... "

"Yes, Miss Granger," he said benignly, with another twist of the cane. "As I would fight any man who threatened my son. Speaking of which, perhaps you'd be good enough to tell me how you knew Mr. Macnair and Mr. Selwyn were entering the Chamber."

"Well, they were disguising themselves of course," Hermione answered in a nervous rush of words. "I mean, even during holiday a suspended student and a dark wizard couldn't walk into the school just like that ... it was Sen really, I mean Haruka Endoh—Pansy Parkinson's adjutant? We happened to be talking in the halls and saw two students in Hufflepuff robes walk into the second-floor girl's bathroom. Well, that would have been strange enough because they were boys, but why would Hufflepuffs be going upstairs to do _anything_ after curfew? They should have been going _down,_ where the Hufflepuff Basement is. And Haruka knows all the first-years in her house and said she had never seen those boys before in her life, and when we listened just outside the bathroom door and saw the hole in the wall and heard them talking ... well, we knew something terrible was about to happen. So we went to find Professor Snape as fast as we could—that was the right thing wasn't it? I only wish I had guessed what your son was doing, I swear I would have stopped him before it ever got that far—"

He put up his hand and she fell silent, quite out of breath from her verbal exertions.

"That is enough, Miss Granger. You did what you could under the circumstances, and your efforts are to be commended."

Hermione inclined her head. "I was only doing my job, sir."

"I'd thought modesty and professionalism to be lost arts among muggleborns," he said with an appraising look. "It is good to know I was mistaken. Bring my son here if you please; I wish to speak with him."

She obeyed at once, crossing the room to relay the orders; Draco acknowledged her with a nod, composing himself as best he could and smiling at Luna before approaching.

"Father?" he said cautiously.

Lucius stood up from the chair and motioned for his son to take it instead. "Your entering the Chamber was beyond irresponsible. You know this."

The boy nodded morosely and stared straight ahead.

"Suppose you had somehow managed to smuggle the creature out of the school without setting off all of your godfather's security wards. What would you have done then? Released it? Walked all the way to Hogsmeade Station to catch a train, which would not have come until morning? All while a very dangerous man was looking for you?"

"Luna knows about a nature preserve where they keep animals too dangerous to go free," Draco said. His voice was faint and almost numb, no doubt owing to mild shock. "We were going to see about getting there. Sister could change her size at will, and she didn't want to hurt us. She rescued me in the prefect's bath, warned us when she was about to go hunting. I couldn't just leave her to die after all that. Never thought Macnair would get into the school honestly, but ... well, at least now he'll be locked up, right? And Richard too."

Lucius was unmoved. "Under the circumstances, you will excuse me if I do not literally jump for joy. The War is still on in a small way. That much is clear now. And one lesson of war is that not everyone can, or should, be saved."

Draco hung his head. Then he felt his father's hand upon his shoulder, and looked up again.

"However ... I am proud of you and your friends for displaying the resourcefulness under pressure that all true Slytherins possess, enough to save your skins. And mine. I shall not forget that. Though I doubt you would let me."

The boy gave him a wan smile. "Not for a moment, father. And about the book ... " he paused, watching out for any signs of the man's infamous temper.

"Go on."

"Macnair called it a Horcrux. What does that mean?"

Lucius shook his head. "Call him Walden, son. He is below our station, now more than ever. I cannot verify anything he might have told you and the less you know about such things, the better. I will say that if I knew of all the enchantments he laid upon that book, and that they would still be active, I would have ensured no one was exposed to it again. At least it is destroyed now. Young Miss Weasley saw to that."

"And how," his son agreed, suppressing a shudder. "Did you see? She didn't just douse the book in Sister's poison. That would have been a mercy. She took Luna's quill and _wrote_ in it ... with that. She tortured him, father. He went slowly."

Lucius absorbed the information pensively.

"Not saying Tom didn't deserve it, but she's a dark witch in the making. She hides it well enough when she needs to, but it's true."

"Precisely why your mother and I will be watching over her closely. And we expect you and Luna to do likewise."

"We will, father," Draco promised. He glanced off to the side, biting his lip.

Lucius tilted his head. "Is there something else that troubles you?"

"It's nothing."

"Out with it, son. This is not a night for secrets."

"I'm glad the diary is out of play and Macnair and Selwyn got what they deserved, but I don't know where to go from here. I mean, we just destroyed a piece of Tom Riddle. And the real Tom Riddle grew up to be ... " Draco trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence. "And you _follow ... "_

"Followed." The man's voice fell to a near-whisper. "Past tense. I could not rejoin him now, even if I wished; the others would not have me. And perhaps that is for the best. It is not the first time I have altered my course for your sake. As it happens, I stopped following him shortly after your birth."

Draco was stunned. His father had always refused to speak of his involvement with the Dark Lord. The idea that he'd earned the man's trust, after twelve years of struggling to please him, made all of his suffering seem worthwhile.

"I shall speak no more of it here. When we are home, perhaps, and free of prying eyes and ears. We have much to celebrate this Christmas, and only two days to prepare for the holiday ball. Your friends have of course been invited."

"And my adjutant, father?"

Lucius seemed to wince. He regarded Hermione from the corner of his eye, tapped his cane upon the floor, and sighed.

"If that is your wish," he said grudgingly. He was not looking forward to explaining her presence to the guests.

* * *

"You ask much of me, Severus." Minvera McGonagall snuffed out the lamps in her new office, ignoring the snores from the portraits of the other Headmasters. Her very first day as Deputy Headmistress had ended with an ungodly duel involving two powerful pure-blood lords and four students. She had finished questioning the Slytherins, but insisted that the children spend the night in the infirmary to recover. It was now well past midnight and she paused hesitantly at the door to her chambers feeling a weariness that, until now, had been her predecessor's to bear.

Snape stood impassively by the door. "I ask it for your benefit, Headmistress. It is unfortunate that your first day in a new position coincided with this ... unpleasantness. If the _Daily Prophet_ were to learn of it, the school's reputation ... "

She silenced him with a scowl. "Enough, Severus. It is the reputation of your House that concerns you. Your machinations are quite transparent."

He looked askance for a moment, and one corner of his mouth twisted strangely, as though he were trying to smile but had forgotten how. In that moment he resembled the alienated young man she taught so long ago. "Is that so? Then I must try to make them more opaque."

McGonagall sighed and leaned back against the wall, arms folded. "You ask this for Lucius Malfoy's sake, not mine, and I have far too much history with him to take him at his word. But for the fact that young Mr. Selwyn is a known blood purity fanatic and Macnair clearly unhinged, I should not have believed a word of his story."

"Understandable."

"Even so, I've half a mind to tell Amelia Bones everything and let her deal with it. But your argument is not without merit. There are far too many leaks in the Ministry these days. If we told the aurors all we knew, the press would be on our doorstep the next morning. I have no desire to spend Christmas fending off Rita Skeeter."

Snape nodded sagely. "Nor I. Your new responsibilities mean this situation must be handled delicately."

"You need not tell me what my responsibilities mean." McGonagall's glare was darker than a storm cloud. "Albus was always very courteous and patient with Mr. Malfoy, and we all saw what came of _that._ He shall not receive the same forbearance from me. I know too well where his loyalties lie."

"Loyalties have been known to change, Headmistress."

"Surely you do not think to convince me that the man who avoided Azkaban by the skin of his teeth and drummed Albus Dumbledore out of Hogwarts is now on the side of the Light."

The Potions master picked up one of the lanterns that was still lit. Then, generating a wandless _lumos,_ he invited her to compare them. "I am suggesting that Light comes in different shades. There are many wizards who stand to lose a great deal if You-Know-Who were to return, including those who once hailed him as their master. Even the darkest corners may yield unexpected allies. Am I not living proof of that?"

He left McGonagall in a thoughtful mood and began the slow walk back to his own quarters. Talk of the past had dredged up memories of Lily, not that those were ever far beneath the surface. It was her eyes that haunted him. Those beautiful bright green eyes, once so full of life, staring into eternity as her body grew cold in his arms.

At least it was done with, he had told himself all these years; at least her murderer was dead, and the Death Eaters would never terrorise Britain again. But he could no longer believe that, not after hearing Macnair and Selwyn's protesting shrieks as they were restrained and taken into custody. This was merely the beginning. There were sure to be more attacks, and more tragedy—unless he acted in time to stop it. He had been too late to save Lily. He would not make the same mistake this time.

He must speak to the Malfoys over the holidays. Minerva was trustworthy, more than Dumbledore had been at any rate, but she would not be enough. Even the Lovegood girl's illicit spellwork—which must be stopped, as the implications of it only grew more disturbing the further he looked into them—would not be enough. So long as something of Snape's former master remained, each and every student at Hogwarts was in mortal peril. Such danger could only be averted by resorting to extreme measures.

He and Lucius would do all they could, but they needed an enforcer. Someone who could afford to spend every waking minute identifying and thwarting their enemies. An ally so powerful, so terrible as to strike fear into the hearts of the most fanatical Death Eaters.

If only he had the foggiest idea who it should be.

* * *

"You know where it came from. Don't you, daddy?"

Xeno flinched and let out his breath. It was inevitable. No matter how graciously he welcomed his daughter home for the holidays and tried to steer their discussions away from his wife's magic, Luna's curiosity must eventually lead them there. He had been exclaiming over her latest painting, a startling rendition of the basilisk she had seen at Hogwarts, and was warding it against incidental damage (of which there was no shortage here at The Rook). While outwardly calm, he was inwardly straining against a most unusual vice: the temptation to lie. It would be a comforting lie to be sure; she might even believe him. And so he resisted with his entire being. Artifice was the road to ruination, a rot that would eat away his legacy. As Editor-In-Chief of _The Quibbler,_ he demanded more of himself.

"I do know," he said at length. "And we'll not speak of it. Not yet."

Luna tilted her head back just slightly and rubbed her fingertips together. She must be agitated. "If you tell me what you know, will that make it safer?"

"No, darling. Nothing can make it safer." His hands tightened around the flimsy wooden frame, almost breaking it before the spell took effect. He steadied himself and mounted the picture near the printing press. The sitting room was chilly, no doubt owing to the holes in the wall from his Spectrespec experiments. They had been only hastily patched. He busied himself with casting a warming charm.

She did not seem surprised. "I thought so. I just wanted to be sure."

He hoped there were no more questions. It was not good to think back on such things. The look on Pandora's face when he found her—that was the worst part. It was not agony or sadness but utter shock, as though she had never dreamed that a spell she'd used dozens of times before might backfire. It was the look of someone who rolled the dice one too many times and lost it all. It wasn't a compulsion, not exactly. The power did not _demand_ to be used. It was simply too valuable to leave alone, as those with the potential knew only too well.

She might have gone her whole life without invoking it again; might have let it rest with Pandora and led a far safer existence. Instead she chose her mother's path, and there was nothing he could do to stop her.

"Daddy."

He hadn't noticed her rising from the chair and standing behind him. Before he could react, she was pressing her wand into his hand.

"For your peace of mind," she said plainly. "I shall need it back when I return to school, of course."

He accepted it with a shudder and held her in his arms. She clung to him just as fiercely, then stepped back with a smile. "I don't know if it will make you feel any better about the magic, daddy, or what we did in the Chamber. But ... "

"What, pumpkin?"

A little spark of malice kindled in her eyes then. "I do wish you had seen the look on Macnair's face."

* * *

The Malfoys' ballroom was an impressive sight under any circumstance, but Dobby and Bitsy truly went all out for the Christmas _soirée._ Elegant wall hangings depicted moving scenes of holidays gone by, the chandeliers burned with red and green flames, and mistletoe donated by Xeno festooned all the doorways. A few of these bunches were charmed to follow the most eligible young wizards and witches, hanging over their heads throughout the party; Alexandra Sykes and Nicolas Grimmett, in particular, would have a difficult time escaping it.

Virtually everyone who was anyone in pure-blood society had agreed to come. Narcissa had delved into the deepest pages of her little black book when sending invitations this year, reaching out to unpopular clans like the Lovegoods, Carrows, and Rosiers as well as fallen or obscure half-blood families who had never been allowed in before: Sophie Roper and her mother, an ebullient Frye Harper and his bewildered parents, and even the Ollivanders, whose prestige had suffered since Garrick Ollivander married a Muggleborn witch. The wandmaker and his wife had declined the invitation while his niece Morag and her parents (who were all "still pure," as she was eager to remind everybody) gladly accepted. The Selwyns were effectively stricken from the social register as Brandonis and Letitia attempted to keep their son Richard out of Azkaban in favour of Brimhazel Correctional Institute, a prison for less serious criminals in the Scottish Highlands.

Oddball characters there were aplenty, but none odder than the willowy man with hair like candyfloss who was scurrying around high table and making little shooing motions with his arms while his loud and festive robes billowed out behind him. Lucius Malfoy stood sentinel nearby, completely foxed by what he was seeing and yet too amused to put a stop to it.

"Xenophilius," he said lazily. "At the risk of sounding quite ignorant, might I ask what you are trying to accomplish?"

"Chasing off the dabberblimps, naturally!" the man declared, turning and running past him yet again. Not for a moment did he relent in his task, oblivious to the baffled stares of the arriving guests. "They've invaded by the dozens! 'Tis no surprise, with so much plum pudding in the room. They can't resist it."

"Dabberblimps ... yes. Pity I never thought to ward the Manor against them."

Xeno finally stopped, wiping his forehead and catching his breath. "Oh, but you're not alone, Malfoy. You'd be amazed how many wizards make the same mistake ... ahh, joy and serenity! It's retreating they are, at last."

He sat down gratefully at the table. A moment later, Lucius joined him.

"Do they ... steal the pudding?" he asked curiously.

"Oh, no. You're thinking of nargles. I've yet to see a dabberblimp that could digest fruit. They never eat; they merely taste with their long tongues, but that's enough to sully the flavour of any dish. I couldn't begin to tell you how many of my recipes they've spoiled over the years."

Lucius paused to remind himself why he was still indulging this man. The diary had been the initial reason of course, but the girl who destroyed it was herself a potential problem. Ginevra Weasley knew enough about them to be dangerous, and she would never have befriended Draco of her own volition. Xeno's daughter was the link between them, the glue that held their trio together. And, for the moment, she was the only thing holding _Draco_ together. He was recovering from the ordeal in the Chamber, but slowly, and perhaps only because she was here for him.

"Now that we've got our breath back, Malfoy," Xeno said, gesturing grandly to the main dessert before them, "I hope you will do me the honour of being the first to try our dirigible plum pudding."

"You are most generous, Xenophilius, but I really couldn't. The meal has not even begun yet, and ... " He hesitated as the eccentric man offered him a small dish with a conspiratorial smile.

"Please. 'Tis but a small recompense, I fear, for shielding my daughter from mortal danger. But for the moment it is all I have to offer."

Lucius gave in. There was little point in resisting the pudding, or the offer of friendship it represented. The Lovegoods were going to be a part of their lives for a long time to come, and he found that it did not bother him.

It helped that the pudding was indescribably delicious.

* * *

Hermione Granger had an excellent view from the balcony as more and more guests filed in. She saw the pure-blood Shafiq family from Egypt and their quiet ten-year-old son Omar; the stooping, unctuous Rankin Borgin of Borgin and Burke's with a "date" he had probably picked up from the corner of Knockturn Alley; the wizened Arachna Rosier and her unsmiling grandson Felix, who was a noted dragonologist and professional rival of Ginevra's brother Charlie. She watched the Flints and the Bullstrodes, the Crabbes and the Goyles, and of course Damian Perriss and his older brothers (who came only for the roast chicken). No two families were the same, but all seemed to belong here in some way.

The one guest who didn't was herself.

In the end she accepted Draco's invitation, telling Harry that she and Ginevra would be spending the evening with Luna. Which was true as far as it went; Luna and Mr. Lovegood were undoubtedly here dressed in matching, almost blinding robes of festive red and green.

"What am I supposed to do, lie to my best friend?" she'd asked Ginevra beforehand.

"Of course not," the first-year said coldly. "We'll tell him as much of the truth as we can get away with."

Who had she picked that up from? Draco, probably. Ginevra was picking up quite a few of his habits lately. But Hermione herself was no different. The Malfoys were influencing all of them, using them really, to clean up the mess they made back in August. Meanwhile all the people who could have exposed them, the very people Hermione should have gone to for help—Harry, Ron, Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall—were compromised and clueless, ignorant of the struggle that had gone on right under their noses. What was it W.B. Yeats had written? _The ceremony of innocence is drowned; the best lack all conviction, while the worst are full of passionate intensity._

Perhaps that was unfair. Draco and his family weren't exactly the worst. But they were darker than the inside of an erumpent all the same, and now that the diary and the basilisk were both gone, maybe she should walk away before she got in too deep. Her contract with Draco wasn't quite official, as minors couldn't swear a wizard's oath or even draw up legally binding documents; she could get out of the arrangement if she really wanted to. Besides, she was tired of being treated as a servant, didn't want to be seen here like this by anybody, and Draco would be expecting her in the ballroom any moment—

"Oy, there you are."

Hermione yelped and turned about. The stocky teen-age girl standing by the stairs was a little hard to recognize out of her Hogwarts robes, but it was the Slytherin prefect who had been walking her to and from the dungeons, round-faced with dark hair in ringlets and flowing purple dress robes. What was her name again? She still wasn't sure quite how to address much older students, especially ones who were so far above her in the pecking order. "Y-yes, Miss ... Farley? What is it? Do they need me?! I was just ... "

Farley seemed to know immediately that something was wrong. She held up her hands. "Blimey. You're more high-strung than the house-elves. What's the matter with you then?"

"Nothing!" Hermione said in a shrill voice. And then, when the prefect appeared less than convinced by her lie: "Really, you don't have to bother talking to me. I'm sure there are plenty of other guests here who would be better company than ... well, an adjutant."

"Not really. There's only one person I looked forward to seeing at these things," Farley said, gesturing down at the crowded ballroom. "And as you might've heard, he ain't coming."

 _Selwyn,_ Hermione thought. Only then did she notice the older girl's brown eyes were rimmed with red, and her shoulders sagged as if from some unseen burden.

"I'm sorry, Farley," she said, and she meant it.

Farley forced a smile as unsteady as her voice. "Apologise to me mum and dad. Marrying into Richard's family would've been our meal ticket. And I love that crazy bloke, or the bloke I thought he was, even if he spent more time in the bathtub than he did with me. Now he's gone dark, hasn't he, and everyone looks at the Farleys like we're criminals too. Guilt by association and all that sort of thing. I'm not any happier to be here than you are if I'm honest."

Hermione felt a great lump rise in her throat as she imagined what it must be like: growing up with a clear path to prosperity and success before her, only to see it bulldozed and paved over for something unrecognisable. Farley was seventeen, the age of majority in magical Britain, and found herself adrift with no idea what to expect. Hermione knew that feeling well. She was only thirteen herself and from a radically different background, but she knew. Before she could stop herself she was rushing forward and embracing the other witch, needing to share some of the pain she had kept inside for months: the insults, the dirty looks, the fear that she was slowly but surely betraying her only friends.

She was amazed when Farley did not push her away. Instead she froze, perhaps struggling to process the fact that she was being touched by a muggleborn. Then she softened and clapped Hermione a bit too roughly on the back, forcing out a sob that sounded like a hiccup. "Right, that's enough. Malfoy warned me about you. You won't be employed long if you go glomming onto every pure-blood you see."

Hermione nodded as she stepped back and wiped a tear on the sleeve of her new robe—black with silver piping, and the Malfoy family crest over her heart. "I'm so sorry. It's just ... I understand what you mean, about not knowing what's next. And being afraid. I don't think I can even go back down, with all their friends there staring at me. It was bad enough in the meeting room, but this ... "

Farley placed a knuckle under her chin, forcing her to look up until their eyes met. "I thought Gryffindors finished what they started. Thanks to Malfoy you're in better nick than any muggleborn has been since before the War. He's saved your life, in more ways than one. You can't walk out on him now."

She breathed in, shuddering, and nodded. "I guess you're right."

"And if it's any consolation, you won't be alone," the prefect said, finally cracking a smile. "'Cause I'll be with you. Every minute, if that's what you want. I wouldn't be much of a prefect if I let a student wander about without a chaperone, now would I? And outcasts like us need to stick together."

Hermione had run into many Slytherins since beginning her magical education. Some openly scorned her, others barely tolerated her, and a few valued her for her brains. It never occurred to her that one of them might be a friend. She felt suddenly lighter as Farley took her hand and led her towards the stairwell.

* * *

Pansy Parkinson smiled like the cat who'd eaten the canary as she swept onto the floor in a prodigiously tailored forest-green gown embroidered with gold. On either side of her were her father Pavel Parkinson, a hard-faced man with an iron jaw and straight dark hair slicked back, and her mother Primrose Parkinson _nee_ Burke, a lovely woman with a slender figure and black braids coiled elegantly atop her head. Pansy had inherited some of her mother's looks and inquisitive nature, but the hazel eyes and sadistic streak were undoubtedly her father's.

They wanted a son and not a daughter; Pansy had known this for as long as she could remember. Her life proved an arduous struggle as day by day, year by year she fought to make them respect her—and, when that proved too difficult, she settled for fear. She had her father wrapped round her little finger tightly enough that he finally agreed to teach her duelling last summer, and she took to it so quickly that even he was unsettled. With her mother she alternated between playing the perfect aristocrat and a menacing little tyrant who would invoke daddy's wrath if she didn't get her way. When Draco took an adjutant, she hired one as well, and stood her ground when they protested the decision.

 _How would it look,_ she wrote in one of her more pointed letters to them, _if MY FUTURE HUSBAND took the risk of hiring a muggleborn and I did nothing to support him? What would the_ Daily Prophet _society pages say? Do you WANT us to appear unworthy of marrying into his family?_

Naturally it worked like a charm. So it was that Pansy found herself at another holiday ball, looking more than ever like a successful future heiress as the other guests looked at her with awe and her parents struggled to keep up. She knew something terrible had happened a few nights ago, something bad enough to land poor Draco and his friends in the infirmary, but was unable to find out much before Madam Pomfrey shoo'd her away. Now was her chance to get some answers.

"Walk slowly, Pansy, like a lady," Primrose chided her. "This is not your home."

 _It will be,_ Pansy thought with a smirk. Rather than obey one parent, she distracted the other. "Father, look! Theodore and his father haven't arrived yet. You were quite right about being fashionably late."

Pavel looked reproving, but was obviously pleased. He was always eager to get one up on the Notts and Pansy well knew it. "They won't be much longer, I'm sure. But I am glad you are taking my lessons to heart."

"I see the Zabinis didn't waste any time," Primrose said grimly. She nodded toward the crowded center of the ballroom where a tall, dark witch with hair that stood out about her head like a black halo was hanging on the arm of a dapper wizard. "And Kali's got another beau already. Dear, oh dear. I do hope they arrived together, at least."

"Now, darling, we must be civil," her husband chided her.

Pansy felt rather sorry for Blaise, watching him trail despondently after his mother and her latest catch. She felt even sorrier when she recognised the man's signature wavy golden hair. "Mother! I think it's Gilderoy Lockhart!"

"Oh, Pansy, it couldn't be."

"I'd know the man anywhere," she insisted, fighting the urge to point. "He teaches our Defence classes! Such as they are."

Her parents were incredulous at first, but as they came closer they saw it was indeed the five-time winner of _Witch Weekly's_ Most Charming Smile award, arm in arm with Blaise's mother and already drawing an attentive crowd with his vainglorious boasting.

"It is both a blessing and a curse, I fear, to be a man of such profuse and prolific talents!" Lockhart was saying as the Parkinsons came within earshot. "Alas, there are times when even men of the most inexhaustible celebrity must allow others their fifteen minutes in the spotlight. So it was that, rather than absorb all the attention by displaying my true skills in The Official Gilderoy Lockhart Duelling Club, I chose to set the bar and then graciously step aside ... I only regret that Professor Snape could not be present tonight to reminisce about that first meeting ... I can only surmise that his humiliating defeat was too much for him, as he has avoided me ever since along with the rest of the Hogwarts faculty ... the task of venturing into the ivory tower and shaking things up is a daunting one indeed ... "

Blaise had slipped away quite unnoticed by his mother, and Pansy wasted no time joining him by the windows.

"You have my sympathies, Blaise," she remarked airily. "Happy Christmas."

"I didn't think you could feel sympathy, Parkinson."

"Look on the bright side: it's only a matter of time 'til everyone finds out what really happened at the Club, and then he's finished. If your mother doesn't do him in first, that is."

Blaise smirked maliciously and brushed some imaginary dirt from his grey robes. "Now there's a thought. Unfortunately I don't think they're that close. Both wanted a date for the ball and, wouldn't you know it, Lockhart couldn't get any of the teachers at Hogwarts to accept."

"Truly shocking," Pansy replied with a giggle. "Now, shall we go find Malfoy?"

It didn't take long to spot his pale blond head, especially with Luna's next to it; the two were off talking by one of the banquet tables, and he was leaning on her every word like he never had with any girl. Pansy found it disquieting, and somehow threatening. She swallowed the feelings just in time to give the pair a convincing smile. "Happy Christmas, Malfoy. Luna."

"Hullo, Parkinson," Luna said vaguely. She made Pansy feel like she was being stared at, even before the blonde turned in her direction. When she did, her eyes were dancing to some unheard music. "Your dress is lovely."

"Why, thank you. So is yours. How very ... colourful!"

"It suits you," Blaise added.

Draco greeted them most warmly and raised his glass of butterbeer. "Blaise! Pansy! Welcome to our little celibation ... I mean, cebrellation ... oh, drat, that's too many sylbles. Syllalables. Er ... whatever. Party! Welcome to our party."

Blaise raised his eyebrows at the the several empty butterbeer mugs already on the table. "Thank you, Malfoy. I would wish you a Happy Christmas, but it seems you've started without us."

"Hm? Oh ... oh, yes. Well, that's the thing 'bout butter ... butterbeer," Draco explained labouriously. "Not true alcohol you see, mostly charmed, and so it wears off quickly doesn't it? Got to keep on top of these things, you know."

"You'll have to excuse him," said Luna. "Draco needed some help getting into the Christmas spirit. There was an emergency just a few nights ago, you see."

"Luna!" Draco hissed angrily, as their suddenly attentive classmates sat down next to them awaiting the rest of the story—Pansy with an appalled look on her face upon hearing Luna call her superior by his first name. "You shouldn't have told them. Now they'll want to ... hear about it, and ... ugh."

"There are some things we cannot tell you yet," Luna said to them after a slow nod. "'Tis a sensitive matter, you see."

Draco let his breath out slowly. "Quite. To make a long story ... er ... is it long? Maybe it's short. Well, to a make a short story even shorter ... I'm even more popular this year than I planned on. I was attacked again, you see."

"What?!" Pansy bristled and looked around the ballroom, perhaps scanning the crowd for potential assassins. "By whom?!"

Blaise studied his friend with a mild scowl, which was about as concerned as he ever looked. "Not Selwyn again, surely. He's supposed to be under house arrest."

"Supposed to be, oh yes. But he dropped in for a little party of his own, didn't he Luna? And brought along a Death Eater friend of his too. Suffers ... suffix ... I mean, _suffice_ it to say we had a bit of a close shave, wot?"

His fellow second-years looked at each other blankly, then back at him.

"Come off it, Malfoy," Pansy said incredulously. "If a real Death Eater was after you, you wouldn't be sitting here now."

"You think I don't know that, Pansy?" Draco retorted as he slammed down his glass, his cheeks flushed. For the first time Pansy got a good look at his eyes—frightened and bloodshot, as though he'd barely slept. "You think I don't know I should be dead right now?!"

"Draco," Luna said softly, trying to calm him down.

He didn't seem to hear, or even see the ballroom. He looked like someone lost in a nightmare he couldn't wake up from. "You want to talk about real, Pansy? Perhaps I'll describe his mask for you; would that be real enough? Shall I tell you what he did to the basilisk when it tried to protect us in the Chamber? Or what he would have done to us next, if no one stopped him?!"

Pansy felt a chill as she returned his gaze. A basilisk? Draco finding a way to enter the Chamber of Secrets? A Death Eater breaking into Hogwarts to kill a twelve-year-old? The Chamber itself must be real; she had decided that much during her research with Blaise. But this was far worse than she ever imagined.

"You see, Parkinson," Luna said calmly. "You were right all along. There was a Chamber. We saw it ourselves. And there was a monster on the loose, but it was not the basilisk. She was merely an animal without a choice. The real monster was Walden Macnair, and the Aurors have him now. That is why he is not here tonight."

Draco rather desperately took another swig of butterbeer, and his carefree manner began to return. "Mmm ... and good riddance to bad rubberish! I mean, rubbish ... let him feed the Dementors for a while, eh? Perhaps he'll think twice before crossing the Malfoys and Lovegoods again."

Blaise looked dazed. He grabbed for a glass of his own and drained it in seconds. "Merlin's beard. You're serious, aren't you? Why hasn't this been reported in the _Prophet?"_

"Because the school doesn't need any more bad publishity, public, oh you know what I mean. They'll put a story together soon enough; something about Macnair and Richard trying to break into the school and being caught straight off. Only a few of us in Slytherin know the rest, and that's good enough for now."

"Malfoy," Pansy said. Her disbelief had slowly given way to a smouldering rage. That anyone would dare try to do away with Draco Malfoy, the future of Slytherin and pure-blood society alike—and most importantly, the boy who would someday make her one of the richest and most powerful witches in Britain—was quite unacceptable. She felt her fingers twitch involuntarily, yearning to draw her wand and hex anyone who looked suspicious. _"Who told them?"_

Draco paused, apparently taken aback by the look on her face. "Sorry?"

"If what you say is true, how did Richard and that filthy brute even _know_ you were going into the Chamber?" Pansy almost snarled. "Who did you tell about it? Not us, certainly!"

He squinted, reluctantly allowing the effects of the beverage to fade again. "Hmm ... oh my ... the ghosts! Yes, that's right. Myrtle, the Baron. And Ginevra of course; she was there too. But they're all on our side."

"I hope you're right, Malfoy. There's only one thing that could have happened. Someone followed you there, saw what you were doing ... "

" ... And betrayed you to your enemies," Blaise finished matter-of-factly. "At the worst possible time, no less."

Draco swallowed hard. His fists clenched, then relaxed, and when he looked up at them his voice was calm and deliberate as his father's. "An interesting theory. What do you suggest we do about it?"

"I know just what to do about it," said another voice with a less refined accent that caused them all to jump. "We'll find out who they are. And when we do, we'll show them just who they're dealing with."

It was a girl around their age they had never seen before. She was slightly chubby with an olive complexion, dark eyes, and a mop of curly black hair under an exotic hooded robe. Before anyone could say anything she plunked herself down next to Luna, poured herself a glass of butterbeer and drank jubilantly.

"Who in Merlin's name are you?" Pansy demanded.

"What do you mean, who ... oh! Sorry. I've been having such a good time I forgot all about Mrs. Malfoy's disillusionment charm. It's me, Ginevra. See?"

The girl pulled up a sleeve of her robe just past the elbow, revealing lighter and freckled skin that the charm didn't cover.

Luna laughed musically. "It's quite a good job Mrs. Malfoy did on you! Happy Christmas, Ginevra."

"I wondered why I hadn't seen you yet," Draco said cheerily. "Why go to all that trouble? You're safe enough here; Father's wards see to that."

Ginevra pulled her sleeve back down and shook her head. "Because Lockhart is here! If he recognises me he'll blab it all over Hogwarts. Then mom and dad will find out I was here and I'll be grounded and throwing gnomes out of our yard for the rest of my life! So your mother was nice enough to disguise me. Isn't she clever?"

Blaise looked only slightly less astonished than he had a minute earlier. "Indeed, but perhaps a better question is, why are you here at all, Weaslette?"

"The same reason anyone else is here, old bean," Draco drawled from behind his glass. "Because we invited her."

Momentary silence fell over the table as his older friends struggled to process this. The Lovegood girl was all well and good, if a bit daft, but to allow a Gryffindor into their circle? Not even as an adjutant like Hermione, but a genuine friend of Draco's?

Pansy was the first to recover. "Well, Ginevra ... I know you talk to Blaise here sometimes, and that we let you into our common room on certain occasions, and that you partner with these two in Duelling Club, and ... well, I suppose I should have seen it coming. But this is ... nice! Yes. Really quite nice."

"Yeah, it's pretty weird for me too," Ginevra said.

That seemed to break the ice a little. Pansy giggled, Blaise smirked, and Draco seemed to relax. They talked a bit until Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy made a formal welcome announcement and invited everyone up for a pre-dinner dance. Blaise took the opportunity to talk privately with Ginevra as they approached the floor.

"I understand you lions prefer to get straight to the point," he said. "So, about the book ... ?"

"There is no book," she said simply. "And no Tom. They never existed."

Blaise stared at her for a moment. "Then we're not telling anyone? I mean ... I suppose Draco's right, that it wouldn't do for all wizarding Britain to find out something like that was in Hogwarts, but Selwyn knows about it. He _gave_ it to me. You think that won't come out when he's questioned by the Aurors?"

"Mr. Malfoy talked to us about that. He said Selwyn's half mad and the Death Eater mentoring him is _all_ mad. With no one to back up their story, the Aurors won't believe them and we all stay out of trouble. Even without the book, the charges of breaking and entering and attempted murder will keep them locked up for a long time."

The taller boy's eyes cleared, and he shook his head in admiration. "That's reassuring. And now that the book doesn't exist, I suppose it would be impossible for you to tell me anything about it. Such as where it came from, for instance."

"You're very smart, Zabini. I always liked that about you."

"Then, one more thing about this non-existent book, and the spirit who _wasn't_ living in it, and the people he _didn't_ possess and possibly scar for life," Blaise purred as the music started and he took her hand. "If it did exist, would you have done away with it before it could harm anyone else?"

"Of course," she said solemnly. "I think his victims would deserve that much."

A tense moment ensued when Luna and Pansy accompanied Draco to the floor, both expecting to share the opening dance with him. When each girl reached for his hand at the same time, the temperature in the ballroom fell noticeably and an apocalyptic staring contest ensued.

"How presumptuous of me!" Pansy exclaimed with a smile that stopped well short of her eyes. "Of course you ought to take this one, Luna. _Little girls_ should have their fun while they still can."

"Oh, dear," Luna replied, swaying gently on her feet. Her voice was so light and fanciful that it seemed to come from another dimension. "But I wouldn't dream of spoiling your holiday like that, Parkinson, when you so seldom get to see dear Draco anymore."

"I think dreams are rather your specialty, Luna, and all of us in Slytherin find your notions ever so _cute!_ Thinking you've the right to call Malfoy by his given name, for instance. By all means, hurry and have the first dance before he loses his patience with you."

"T'would be quite selfish of me to accept it, Parkinson. And we do enjoy watching you try to put one foot in front of the other without hexing someone."

The music began to play. Pansy's expression had turned colder than a hag's unmentionables. Luna returned her gaze, rubbed her fingertips together as though anticipating a fight. Draco watched them fearfully, backing away slowly until he found himself swept off in the not-so-tender embrace of third-year Ravenclaw Marietta Edgecombe.

"Yoink!" she cried, with an insipid giggle at the younger girls. "Where _have_ you been hiding all evening, Malfoy?! We really must have a talk."

They watched helplessly as the pair disappeared into the dancing crowd, then sighed in unison.

"I was serious, you know," said Pansy. "We really should enjoy the time we have before we turn out like _her."_

* * *

On the other side of the room, Lucius and Narcissa moved together with effortless grace born of nearly twenty years of marriage, making idle conversation all the while.

"I say, darling, the Notts are finally here," the wife remarked.

"Are they? What are they doing?"

"Sitting at a table looking grim as usual."

Lucius made a low sound in his throat. "Icarus hasn't been the same since he lost Tamara. I fear it's affected young Theodore as well, though he never knew her."

"Growing up in a household full of dark memories, with so little to look forward to ... it's no wonder the boy always seems morose. I tell Draco to keep in touch with him, involve him in whatever the other children are up to, but now he can hardly spare the time between his new friends ... his improving study habits ... his Quidditch practises ... his constant brushes with death ... "

Her husband winced as he raised her hand and she twirled beautifully. "As I've told you, dearest, this year's travesty was entirely my fault and shall not be repeated. You need not stick it between my ribs again. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion."

"Is my tone not cheery enough for you? Am I not smiling at enough of the right people?"

"Narcissa ... " His voice rose, drawing out her full name with displeasure.

"I'm frightened, Lucius," she whispered into his neck as the dance drew them close again. "Can you understand that? You swore to protect our son from what you were doing. You resisted the Dark Lord himself for that purpose. Now we find out the rumours of his immortality were true, and a piece of him has been concealed in our home since the end of the War, a piece that some of our _old friends_ are willing to follow! And suppose it wasn't the only one. Suppose he created more!"

His hands tightened fearfully about her shoulders. "Courage, Cissy! If there are other pieces, we shall find them and destroy them until none are left. That is all we can do. Severus and I are preparing for that very eventuality. Remember?"

"Yes," she nodded, almost sagging against him. She felt so small and frail in his arms. "Please do it quickly. Take every shortcut, break every rule you can get away with, turn to the darkest magics there are. But _protect my boy."_

A mysterious smile crept over Lucius' face. "We have the Dark Arts of course. But, who knows? We may also have the Light. A little Light, of our very own."

She looked at him, inquiring.

"Nothing, dear. I swear I shall protect him with all the resources available to us. At the moment, my most pressing concern is my father. The dinner is about to begin and still no sign of him."

"You worry that he won't arrive?"

"Quite the contrary. I worry that he _will_ arrive. I worry about how, in the name of all things magical, I am going to explain this mess to him. I worry—"

The husband was interrupted by a resounding thud as the ballroom doors were flung open by powerful magic he recognised all too well. There was a shocked outcry from the guests. The music trailed off uncertainly and, with a sharp intake of breath, he turned to face the man at the back of the room.

Those who had never met Abraxas Malfoy might imagine an older and harsher version of Lucius. So it was that when he chose to make an appearance—always sudden, unannounced, and on his own terms—they were invariably surprised. As everyone could see when he tossed his winter cloak to Dobby to reveal a short-sleeved grey tunic and slacks, the family patriarch was impressively fit and muscular for a man in his sixties. Though his shoulder-length hair and neatly trimmed beard had gone grey and he was half a foot shorter than his son, he stood proudly and scrutinised the hushed crowd with brown eyes so dark they were almost black. His skin appeared tough as leather and nearly as tanned from the years he'd spent outdoors, and a long ugly scar ran most of the way down his left arm. Hanging on his right was a buxom brunette witch, easily twenty years his junior and well out of her social depth.

"I say," he remarked in his gravelly voice as he accepted a glass of wine. "My son's invited enough of you to start a Quidditch league."

Most of his friends and colleagues welcomed him with equal parts fear and admiration as he strode into the chamber, shouting a greeting at every man he could see and kissing the hand of every woman he could reach. Lucius stifled a groan. His father was once the most clean-cut and proper pure-blood lord in the Isles; then his wife Aurelia passed away and everything changed. After a few years in mourning he left most of his holdings in Britain to his son and retired to a remote cottage in Wales, abandoning magical politics in favour of dragon-watching and playing the field all over Europe. But as his infrequent letters to the family made abundantly clear, he was still fiercely conservative and loathed all muggleborns.

Far too soon, Abraxas had made his way through the throng and zeroed in on his heir. Lucius gulped and plastered a weak smile on his face. "Why, father. So good that you could make it."

"Lucius," his father said in guarded tones, as though expecting his patience to be sorely taxed. "You're looking as anemic as ever, I see. Isn't your wife feeding you? ... And Narcissa, darling. You're ravishing as always."

"You're too kind, Lord," she said fondly. "How wonderful to see you after all this time!"

"Never mind the formalities, call me Abraxas. Or Brax, as this charming lady insists on." He indicated the shapely woman at his side. "I'd like you to meet Svetlana Davis. She's visiting here from Russia."

Svetlana bowed graciously and spoke with a pronounced accent. "I am most honoured, Lord and Lady Malfoy! I have heard so much about you."

"Davis? Not the ... " Lucius wisely trailed off as his wife elbowed him in the side. As it was hardly a Russian surname, he'd immediately thought of a pure-blood fanatic named Oswalt Davis who died in the War, leaving behind a foreign half-blood wife and infant daughter. Narcissa's reaction confirmed his guess, albeit painfully. "Yes, well. The honour is ours, Svetlana."

"Brax and I were introduced by the British ambassador and one thing led to another," the witch continued happily. "And if I can keep him out of Wales long enough, he's going to show me around Hogwarts! My _devochka_ Tracy loves it at Koldovstoretz, truly. But I believe she needs a bit more ... what is the word? ... _variety_ in her education."

As Narcissa and Svetlana drifted off into their own conversation, Brax was already analyzing the disconcerting scene before him. Lucius could virtually read his mind as he did so: _too many people invited. Crowded, tense, as if they're circling the wagons. No Selwyns. No Macnair. But they let in the Carrows? The Ropers? And the Harpers don't even belong here!_ His hawkish gaze swiveled from his grandson, standing awkwardly nearby with a girl who bore an unmistakable resemblance to a blood traitor magazine editor, to Gemma Farley standing beside an unfamiliar child—a child carrying a tray and wearing _his_ family crest. The old man's expression did not change or even waver but a growl of revulsion under his breath, audible only to Lucius, said it all.

"It's ... been a most eventful year," his son said, making a herculean effort to be nonchalant.

"Has it," Brax vibrated, rather than spoke; he had turned an alarming shade that contrasted even more with his hair. The snifter he was holding quite suddenly shattered in his hand, allowing red wine to trickle down over his knuckles. "Has it indeed."

Hermione was trembling also, but for different reasons, as she offered him a new glass from the tray she was holding. "W-would you prefer f-firewhisky, Lord Malfoy ... s-sir?"

* * *

"I understand your being surprised ... "

"Surprised! I am _stupefied!_ Just when I think it's safe to leave you alone for a year, I come back to this! Muggleborns, blood traitors, nobodies infesting our Manor! Have you forgotten everything I taught you?!"

Draco, Luna, and Ginevra huddled silently, listening to the elder Malfoys' heated conversation outside the antechamber. They could just see glimpses of the two men as they peeked through the curtains.

"Circumstances have changed," Lucius said firmly. "And as soon as you'll permit me to explain—"

"You step on everything the Dark Lord envisioned for us and that's all you can say? What of our reputation? What of the integrity, the security we took up our wands and fought for? That _you_ fought for?!" Brax ranted in _sotto voce,_ pacing around his son in a relentless circle and downing his drink. "Girl! More firewhisky!"

"Yes sir," said Hermione, who for some unfathomable reason had been allowed to join them inside.

Though Lucius once lived in fear of this man, now he looked him in the eye without flinching. "I refuse to believe that re-instituting adjutants will be the downfall of our family or our society. I have taken every precaution. As I was saying—"

"Allowing those people to work in our homes is no longer an acceptable risk! They compromise our security! They corrupt the sensibilities of our children! Look at what that ... that _Tonks_ did to your wife's family! What more proof do you need than that?"

"That situation occurred because Cygnus and Druella did not exercise proper oversight. I will not make the same mistake."

Brax let out a barking, almost despairing laugh. "And that is how you would justify it to the Dark Lord if he came back tomorrow, yes? 'I have taken every precaution to exercise proper oversight.' Sophistry, Lucius. You're still your mother's child, always the politician. You may dress it up however you please, but that does not make it right. I will not lower myself to speak with any muggleborn, let alone tolerate one in our ancestral home, and that is _final!"_ He looked absent-mindedly down at Hermione. "Girl. More firewhisky."

"Yes sir."

Lucius took a deep breath and forged ahead. "You believe that Cissy and I have compromised our identity and turned against everything the Dark Lord wanted us to be, and perhaps you are right. However, there is a perfectly rational explanation for everything you see here."

"Out with it then. I might even be drunk enough to believe it."

The dark wizard contemplated his next words carefully. Then he seemed to shrug. For one of the few times in his life, he did what his ... yes, drat it all, his _friend_ Xeno Lovegood would have done: throw all subtlety out the window.

"The Dark Lord planted a Horcrux in our Manor and attempted to kill your grandson."

For the second time that night, Abraxas Malfoy crushed a glass in his hand.


End file.
